


Let Us Hear You, Let Us Feel You

by SnowStormSkies



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Other, Punishment, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For five years they've kept it together, made it through executives, management, fans, and BILDE's occasional spite filled articles. They’ve hit the big time, and are still climbing.</p>
<p>But now, something's changed. There's a secret in the band that's driving a wedge between the twins and severing the friendships between Tom, Georg and Gustav. For months, Tom’s been on the fast track to rack and ruin with drink and drugs and hoards of girls and it's only getting worse.</p>
<p>Georg and Gustav have had enough; late to rehearsals, mistakes on stage, sleeping through interviews, Tom has driven Tokio Hotel to the brink of career suicide. Something needs to be done - to repair the band, save their careers and to rescue Tom.</p>
<p>They have no idea how deep the problem runs, or where it stems from but they can't let it go on. Come hell or high water, they will get the truth for Tom’s descent into hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written with the lovely KSena on here; her help to plot, curtail stray bunnies, comment, and wrest the boys under control has been invaluable in bring this fic to life.

**Title:** Let us hear you, let us feel you... (Part One, Chapter One)  
 **Author(s):** [](http://snowstormskies.livejournal.com/profile)[**snowstormskies**](http://snowstormskies.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kseenaa.livejournal.com/profile)[**kseenaa**](http://kseenaa.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing(s):** Georg/Tom/Gustav, Georg/Gustav  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Disclaimer:** Them boys in Tokio Hotel belongs to themselves, thank you very much. This never happened and is only written for entertainment.  
 **Warnings:** drug use, BDSM, BotTom, adult content, bondage, heavy kink, spanking, exhibitionism, hurt/comfort, drama  
 **Summary:** For five years they've kept it together, made it through executives, management, fans, and BILDE's occasional spite filled articles. They’ve hit the big time, and are still climbing.  
But now, something's changed. There's a secret in the band that's driving a wedge between the twins and severing the friendships between Tom, Georg and Gustav. For months, Tom’s been on the fast track to rack and ruin with drink and drugs and hoards of girls and it's only getting worse.  
Georg and Gustav have had enough; late to rehearsals, mistakes on stage, sleeping through interviews, Tom has driven Tokio Hotel to the brink of career suicide. Something needs to be done - to repair the band, save their careers and to rescue Tom.  
They have no idea how deep the problem runs, or where it stems from but they can't let it go on. Come hell or high water, they will get the truth for Tom’s descent into hell. .  
 **Tweet me:** Yes, why not? Our twitters: [@SnowStormSkies](https://twitter.com/SnowStormSkies) and [@kseenaa](https://twitter.com/kseenaa).  
 **Include in Postcast Poll:** Yes, why not?  
 **Author's notes:** Thank you to the ever awesome [](http://thilia.livejournal.com/profile)[**thilia**](http://thilia.livejournal.com/) for the perfect banner! We love you! :-D And thank you so, SO much to [](http://steinsgrrl.livejournal.com/profile)[**steinsgrrl**](http://steinsgrrl.livejournal.com/) for doing the beta! We are ever so grateful to you!  
  
Can also be read at [TokioHotelFiction.Com](http://www.tokiohotelfiction.com/): [Link One](http://fiction.tokiohotelfiction.com/viewstory.php?sid=22498)  
  
Or at our own comm [](http://hydrafics.livejournal.com/profile)[**hydrafics**](http://hydrafics.livejournal.com/) : Link One

  
Or at th_fanfic: [Link One](http://th-fanfic.livejournal.com/849114.html#cutid1)  
\--

 

  


**_Chapter One_ **

 

~*~

  
Gustav usually likes silence. He usually enjoys the peace and solitude the absence of noise affords him; he likes time spent without the constant white noise of activity around him. In his life, one of loud concerts and non-stop music and talking and people, silence is a luxury.  
  
Right now, though, he detests it.  
  
He’s drowning in it, sat high on the back of the stage with his drum set, drowning in the dearth of noise that has flooded into the hall. The crowd is nervous, shifting, murmurs rippling through the heated air as the audience tries to work out what happened, why there’s no music. This has never happened before – not in front of people who actually matter; this is a rehearsal mistake, one you make behind closed doors in front of empty seats and staff and security. Not in front of fans, and girls, and cameras and video phones. They know this. They all know this. This fuck-up?  
  
It’s because of one person.  
  
Gustav had counted them in, kept the beat as true as he knew how, and Georg’s bass had been poised to match the drums, and Bill’s mic raised to his lips in readiness to sing his heart out.  
  
But Tom… Tom had fumbled.  
  
The screech of the amp as he hit first one then two then three bum notes in quick succession set everybody’s teeth on edge and Gustav had given up; let the beat fall by the wayside as the crowd’s cheerful screaming turned into confused rumblings and camera flashes.  
  
Georg looks at Gustav as the stadium grinds to a halt. Gustav looks back with dark eyes and a darker frown. What the fuck can they do now?  
  
Bill steps in thankfully, reasserting himself as a front man, and he takes up the mic from where he left it hanging by his side, “Technical difficulties? Only Tom!” he shouts and the crowd laughs, the moment passing into memory as Bill continues to crack jokes, grinning, directing the attention back onto himself and away from his brother.  
  
There’s no hiding away for Tom, though.  
  
The spotlight on Tom is bright, obnoxiously so, and Gustav sees the sweat pouring off of him as he bends over his guitar, shoulders curved under the weight of an invisible burden. Gustav can’t see his face but he knows the expression he would find on it – tight, worried, eyes dark and panicked. The girls are whispering louder, someone starts a slow clap but it’s quickly silenced. Not quick enough – Tom heard it and he ducks even lower down, takes an unconscious step back.  
  
He fucked up in front of thirty five thousand fans. No wonder he’s terrified.  
  
Gustav watches him take a breath, sees the thin back under the t-shirt straighten a little as he pulls up some courage from deep inside. For that, at least, Gustav can respect him. To come back after that… It’s a brave man who can.  
  
Well, respect aside, he’s still pissed. Fuck ups are not welcome here, that’s the rule and Tom kinda just broke that rule. Big time, big style.  
  
Gustav watches as Tom plucks the strings again; obviously trying to reset his mind, put himself back in the music but he’s not convinced. He can see Tom’s fingers shaking, his head is still bowed, his shoulders tense under the t-shirt.  
  
A voice in his ear piece tells Gustav to go again, to start up the beat and in his head, Gustav tries to push out the problem of Tom, force himself back into the zone. Sure enough, he’s in the right headspace almost immediately, counting the beats, running the drums through the paces he’s been doing for the last few weeks. It’s still there –  
  
Fuck. His. _Life._  
  
Tom stumbles again and this time it’s even more horrific, the silence descending like a ton of bricks to shatter on stage when Bill drops his mic, causing a screech of feedback. God, today just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it?  
  
Another sound – a crack that echoes around the stage.  
  
It takes Gustav a moment to realise that the noise came from him rather than Tom – from the stick in his hand that has just been broken in two. Shit. He liked those ones as well. Too late now though to worry about them; he can always buy more. He throws them both over his shoulder for a roadie to grab later, grabs another set from the stash behind him, and he’s ready to go again in terms of equipment. Inside his mind though, he’s seething. Tom’s been one fuck up after another recently but he’s held his tongue. It’s not his place to interfere with the lives of his band mates if they don’t want him to but this …. Live on stage? Screwing with his music, his life? Tom’s not getting away with that.  
  
Not a chance in hell.  
  
Later on tonight, he’s going to… well, he doesn’t know what yet. But he’s going to do something because if this happens again? He might just walk away and not bother coming back. Or at least make the threat.  
  
And wouldn’t that scare David shitless?  
  
The voice is back in his ear, talking to all four of them again over the radio. Gustav listens as the stage manager calmly directs him to start over – there’s no blame in that voice and he appreciates it. Right now, stressing him or Tom or any of them out would be extremely bad. New sticks in hand, he counts them in again, and swears to God above if Tom misses it a third time, he’s gonna get a drumstick wedged where the sun don’t shine.  
  
The tension rises in the hall as Gustav strikes the beat and the fans shift again in anticipation but Gustav is (and the Gods are) appeased. There is no more fumbling, Tom’s fingers fly over the strings and they actually make it beyond two bars into the song. The girls go back to screaming, Bill goes back to doing what the fuck he calls dancing and Georg and Gustav look at each other with fury in their eyes because Tom’s barely functioning as he plays. He doesn’t ham up to the girls, or smile at his brother or do anything. He just looks down at his guitar, playing the music mechanically and Gustav feels anger burning in his belly when he watches Tom refuse to play the crowd.  
  
Tom’s made mistakes before, in rehearsal, in shows, but nothing - nothing ever like this. The fact that it happened at all is unacceptable, and that Tom is now fucking around by not playing up to the crowd, exacerbating the situation....that’s just plain stupid. Gustav’s frown feels like it’s being carved into his face and when he looks up to search for Georg, he sees the bassist looks just as pissed off.  
Tom fucked up their music. They want – no, they need answers.  
  
Gustav waits for intermission to say something but he’s out of luck, seriously out of it. Somewhere, someone must have a cheque for him owing him all the fucking luck he’s missed out on today. Tom pelts off stage, nearly throwing his guitar to a roadie and bolting for the bathroom as fast as his oversized trousers will allow. The slam of the door is loud in the silence and Gustav’s headache pounds. Fine. If Tom won’t stay in the green room, Gustav’s not going looking for him. He’s too fucking tired and pissed off to shout in a bathroom over something as serious as this.  
  
In the green room, the three remaining members sit in silence, the troubles festering between them in the dead air. Bill drinks his tea, Gustav paces, Georg tries to catch five minutes of sleep and David treads very carefully as he reminds them to play up to the crowd, make the girls feel better about the fuck-up. He very specifically avoids naming names – and Gustav knows why. The room feels like a powder keg: one wrong move, one wrong word and the whole thing will go up; keeping the boys happy is more important than assigning blame right now. Mid-concert, a blow out is a disaster that nobody wants – and it’s David’s job to prevent it.  
  
Tom emerges from the bathroom only a few seconds before they are due to go onstage. There’s no time for Georg or Gustav to say anything, and he doesn’t look at them as he scuffs alongside Saki as they jog back along the corridor, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. Gustav ignores him. He doesn’t want to see Tom right now. Or for the rest of the night.  
  
But that’s not going to happen.  
  
\--  
  
After the concert finishes, there’s still no respite from the silence.  
  
Bill’s face is tired under the make-up, and he avoids looking at Tom, conspicuous in his efforts to not have any form of contact with his twin. Whenever Tom tries to speak, Gustav glares at him and whatever he tries to say dries up in his throat and nothing comes out. The walk outside to the car is agony for them all – the fans are screaming, desperately trying to attract their attention but they don’t care tonight. All they want to do is go home, go back to the hotel and chill the fuck out.  
  
Tom’s face is wan, drawn, and tired. In the harsh light from the street lights and the camera flashes, he looks much older and much younger at the same time – his hand quakes as he signs whatever is shoved under his nose, and he nearly stumbles several times. Saki hovers close and Tom ends up needing him as girls reach out, grab for his hoodie, and try pulling him close enough to kiss.  
  
It’s a long trek back to the van.  
  
Bill finishes first, his marker running dry after god knows how many albums, notebooks, photos and posters to be signed. It’s been a long day and it shows; Tobi is practically propping him up as they wait patiently beside the car for everyone else to finish with the fans. Georg and Gustav lean on the side of the vehicle as Saki escorts Tom over to them, one hand on his elbow as they walk to steady him. Or maybe it’s to provide some measure of reassurance, either is possible. Saki’s good like that. The boy’s head is bowed, hiding his face under his caps and Gustav feels a faint thought begin to form in the back of his head as he watches Tom’s footsteps slow the closer he gets to the van.  
  
He frowns as Saki tells security to circle around them to block out some of the cameras, pats Tom on the shoulder as he leaves his side to talk to David and Tom curves away from the touch, but Gustav sees his face and he can see something there, something longing and lost and hopeless as Saki goes away. It’s not the usual look of carefully constructed teenage arrogance and camera fake smile that usually makes it way onto all their faces after a night like tonight. It makes Gustav curious, makes him want to test something, see if the intangible thought in the back of his mind is true or if he’s just imagining it.  
  
Fine, he thinks. He’s never been one to shy away from anything if he wants it.  
  
Saki opens the door, waving for them to get in as the fans scream even louder behind them, desperate for one last autograph, one last song, one last _anything_ but Gustav thinks he might scream if he has to lift his pen up one more time. David piles in first, followed by Bill. But when Tom goes to follow, Gustav grabs his wrist, pulls him back, makes him wait for Georg to go first. Normally, he’d expect fire, expect that Tom would wrench his wrist away and tell Gustav to fuck off back to wherever he came from but he doesn’t.  
  
There is no resistance, no explosive outburst - no nothing. Instead, he just stands there, waiting, head bowed, feet turned inwards, not resisting, not spewing out expletives. He waits for Georg to go first, and only moves when Gustav pulls him forward by the wrist, directing him into the vehicle. “Sit,” Gustav orders when Tom gets to the seat to the right of Georg and Tom does so, not saying a word.  
  
Bill is confused, “But I always sit next to Tom?” he questions, the first non-essential words he's spoken to the band all night.  
  
David rescues Gustav thankfully because fuck if he knows what’s going on right now, even though he’s the one who just did it. “Can’t be certain you two won’t have another fight,” the manager says tiredly, and Tom curls in on himself at the unspoken insinuation of his fuck up from earlier. Both of them.  
  
Georg looks at Gustav over Tom’s head and Gustav shrugs. He needs time to think on this, think and relax because right now? He knows what he’s seeing but he can’t be sure if he’s reading it right.  
  
But if he is….  
  
\--


	2. Chapter 2

At the hotel, Gustav takes some time for himself, wallowing in the good sort of silence. He takes a shower, orders from room service just to give himself something to do and he ends up lounging around on the bed as he processes the thoughts in his head. There’s a lot of them, whirling around but he’s patient. He can wait for them to start to settle; he’s got all night to do it.

In the corridor, he hears a door bang and that’s probably one of the twins invading/retreating from the other’s room. He wonders if Bill is dressing Tom down now, or if the two have separated for the night; they’ve all learnt to stay well clear of Bill after a shitty concert because the boy can bitch something awful when he wants to. He doesn’t think Tom will have willingly subjected himself to that.

He picks at the steak on his plate beside him but he’s not hungry, just tired and vaguely pissed off at the world right now. Gustav checks his phone but there’s no messages from anybody - not family or friends. It’s just him in his head tonight.

Once he stops fucking around with his food and abandons the dish on the dresser, he wonders what everyone else is doing now. It’s been an hour or so since they got in, and he hears the sound of Georg’s television go on in the room to his left, as the bassist settles in for sleep, or watch a film. He shakes his head – he’s never figured out how Georg manages to sleep with the fucking thing on. Gustav likes the whole room to be silent –

A noise in the corridor distracts him from his musings. He hears the sound of someone talking in the corridor. Two someones. Two someones who sound very pissed off, actually.

What the fuck? It’s … ten to midnight, the whole part of this floor is Tokio Hotel and staff only. Who the fuck is still awake when they’ve got a long day tomorrow with press and a full concert, as well? David told them all to get a good night’s sleep.

Curious, and just a tiny little bit angry at whoever is disturbing his downtime, Gustav gets up, walks to the door. He presses his eye to the peep hole, desperate to see what’s going on but whoever is talking is standing too far away from him to get a good enough look at them. He can just make out … yes, that’s Tom’s hoodie. It’s black, oversized, and he’s unmistakable even through the fisheye lens. Whoever the other person is though, is talking too low for Gustav to make out the exact words or voice, and they’re wearing a hoodie, too, so Gustav doesn’t recognise them, but it’s someone familiar to them, it has to be – their security team aren’t stupid enough to let in someone they don’t know after a night like tonight.

He watches as Tom’s door bangs shut when he vanishes inside the room and whoever the other guy is stalks away from Gustav, towards the lift. Something prompts him to stay at the door, pressed up against it like a old age curtain twitcher as he tries to see what’s going on.

Nothing happens for a few minutes and he’s almost ready to leave his uncomfortable post when he sees Tom’s door open again – and while he expects Tom to be wearing pyjamas, running across the hall to Bill’s room, maybe seeking some Twin Time after all… that’s not what he sees.

Tom’s wearing different clothes alright, but they’re not pyjamas – instead, he’s wearing a green shirt, different jeans, a matching cap and sweatband that he only brought a few days ago. What the fuck… Oh, fuck no. Gustav feels his hands tightening on the door handle as he recognises Tom’s outfit – he’s going out. As in, go to a club, find a girl, get drunk and have sex out. What the hell is he thinking?

He watches as Tom pulls his door shut, heedless of the bang it makes and shuffles off down the corridor to the lift, his shoulder high and tense. So they fucking should be. He’s going out after tonight’s fuck up when said fuck up was caused by exactly this?

For a brief moment, he entertains the notion of going out of his room, grabbing the back of Tom’s shirt, throwing him back into his own room and demanding to know what the fuck is wrong with him.

When the lift doors shut, however, he knows he’s missed that chance.

He starts to pace, feels the anger that he thought he’d drained away in the shower suddenly surge, making him feel tight and stressed all over again. In the room next door, there’s the sound of an explosion and he snaps, grabs his keycard from the bedspread, storms out of his room into the corridor. Screw being angry alone. Gustav wants someone else to share in it, to bitch and moan and complain with him about his band mate’s inconsiderate attitude and he knows just who to go to.

He bangs on Georg’s door, waiting impatiently for the bassist to prise himself out of bed and find some sort of cover to the modesty of whomever's at the door. Nudist. He hears shuffling and then the door cracks open as Georg peers out.

“Let me in.” Gustav demands and Georg nods, stepping back to allow him access into the room.

Inside, he finds Georg’s usual mess, his suitcase having exploded in one corner, the television on, half eaten food on the dresser. Evidently Georg didn’t feel like eating, just like Gustav. He kicks Georg’s shoes out of his way as he starts to pace, and the other man sits on the edge of the bed after stripping off the hotel dressing gown, waiting for Gustav to talk. There’s no talking between them - no sound at all. Instead, Georg turns down the TV, switches it to a music channel that can be ignored in the background, knowing that Gustav needs peace to think.

This is how it always works, Gustav pacing until he’s thought through the rush in his mind while Georg waits for him, but tonight it’s taking a while. There’s so much anger inside his head, so much frustration and confusion flying around in him that he can barely find somewhere to begin. He’s been in the room for nearly ten minutes now but the only thing in his mind is a swirling vortex of thoughts and feelings that he hardly recognises as his own, never mind being actually able to process them.

Georg stands up and Gustav stops pacing, alarmed at the change in the routine - this is not how it’s supposed to work. “Relax, Gus…” Georg says, going over to his suitcase. “If you didn’t come to get into bed, I’m putting something on. It’s cold in here.”

Gustav nods, carries on pacing even as he watches Georg’s fine naked arse finally be covered by a pair of checked boxers. Damn, that’s a fine behind, he thinks but he’s got bigger things to think about than his admittedly handsome bandmate; bigger things than a nudist bassist and the prospects said man offers.

Instead, he turns back to the problem that he’s had festering for a few weeks now, but only come to really see – to understand - tonight. He turns it over in his mind, struggling to bring the strands into some sort of comprehensible order, his hands twisting into a mimicry of the knots inside his head. He makes another turn on the carpet and Georg goes back to sit down on the end of the bed, his green eyes on Gustav as he moves, waiting for him to reveal why he invaded his room at this ridiculous time, not two hours after he said he was going to bed and not to be disturbed.

Another five minutes pass, then ten before Gustav’s pacing begins to slow, his thoughts finally corralled into some sort of order. He carries on walking but his steps are calmer, his breathing returning to normal, his hands are no longer twisting together. When he begins to swing his arms to and fro, like he does after a concert to wind himself down, Georg breathes out a sigh of relief that is obscenely loud in the quiet of the room.

“What’s bitten you?” Georg finally speaks as he recognises the calming down process coming to an end.

“I…” Gustav’s not entirely sure how to bring up what’s inside his head, how to put it to Georg without being either callous or inappropriate.

“You can tell me.” Georg coaxes. Gustav knows he’s worried him by this sudden appearance at this late hour, made him nervous about what’s going to be said. He owes him an explanation, but how the fuck he’s going to put this out there is a daunting unanswerable question. In the end, he decides to go with bluntness. He’s never minced his words before, no reason to start now.

“You saw, right?” he blurts out and Georg frowns at him. “I mean… you saw…didn’t you?”

“Just so we’re on the same page, and I’m not about to drop myself into something I don’t understand – what are we talking about?”

“In the van,” Gustav takes a deep breath, “Tom – when we were getting in the van. You saw that didn’t you?”

“Saw what, Gustav?” Georg’s frown deepens.

“Tom. Being all… quiet. Submissive. Obedient.”

“Ah.” Georg’s face turns thoughtful as he considers what Gustav says. “I did,” He admits.

“I’m not seeing things because I’m so angry, am I?” Gustav’s feeling so off kilter by the revelations of tonight, he needs reassurance that what he saw was actually true because if it is.....

“No. I saw it too.” Georg gets up, goes to the mini-bar, fishes out some beers. “Here.” He throws one to Gustav who catches it. He needs it tonight, he knows. If they’re talking like this, they’ll need the inhibition freeing powers of booze, even if it’s not much. Georg pads across to the seating area, collapses into the armchair with a sigh.

“Sit?” he asks Gustav as he props his foot on the coffee table, cracking open the can in his hand. It hisses and foams loudly in the quiet room, the only sound apart from some stupid pop song on the television. Gustav takes the sofa, kicking off his shoes and putting his feet on the coffee table in a mirror of Georg’s pose.

“So,” Gustav says, cracking open his own beer. “So, you saw?” He wants to make sure that he’s absolutely not going mad at this point.

“Yes, Gustav. I saw.” Georg chuckles, taking a sip from the can. “I saw him not fighting you when you separated him from Bill, when you told him to sit, when you gave him that look to shut up and he did it. I saw. Question is: what’s got you so worked up about it?”

“I think…” And Gustav licks his lips, takes a swig to fortify himself, “I think… that he is a sub.”

Georg cocks his head. “Wha- a submissive? You think he’s for real?”

Gustav twists his face, trying to say what he’s only just figured out. “I’ve been watching him. Not seriously but every so often and he’s just… setting off everything about being a sub to me. And now that I think about it, it’s **always** been that way.”

“No shit….” Another beer is thrown to him, and Gustav catches it one-handed. “What’s tripping your sub senses then?” Georg’s leaning forward, interested by the sudden turn into sex and dominance and all things that they both enjoy. Together.

Gustav takes another moment to collect his thoughts, make sure he’s absolutely clear on what he’s about to say because it will mean addressing some very difficult issues in a little while. “Like… He’s always wanting attention. He’ll do something stupid, or say something just to get someone to pay attention to him. But when you do, give him proper attention it’s like…” Gustav waves his hands.

“He flourishes.” Georg nods, filling in what Gustav is trying to say.

“He does. It’s like his face lights up and he smiles and goes all calm inside as soon as someone is actually paying attention to him and not just Tom Kaulitz.” Gustav thinks back to the long history he and Georg have built up with the dread head, right to the beginning before they were famous and always under the spotlight and cameras of the world. “He’s always been like that though – the minute you pay attention to him, he’s yours. He’s desperate for someone to talk to him, and he pushes and pushes for someone to give him more than the time of day.”

“And he’s always pushing rules, playing as close to the line as he can like he’s daring someone to do something about it.” Georg rolls his shoulder as he thinks. “He doesn’t barrel over the line. He just…”

“Dances along it until someone says no.” Gustav drinks some more, considering the evidence that he’s been collecting for a long time now. “He’s also good when someone gives him instructions, following them properly.” It’s true. “As long as he can see the reason why, at least.”

“So what else?”

“It’s that look he gets in his eyes – it’s happening more and more recently.” Remembering those brown eyes makes Gustav shiver. “He’s so… Even though he’s all _“I’m better than you”_ and _“Georg is ugly!”_ in interviews and shit, I just get the feeling it’s not real, you know?” He’s been thinking about this for a while – more than a month, actually, if he’s honest but it’s only now that all the pieces have fallen into place. It’s not making for a good picture. “He’s just… It’s like he’s begging someone to do something, to help him, to save him. He looks like he’s drowning but can’t wave for help.”

Georg nods, cracks open his other beer. “I’ve seen it. Like he wants to say something but he can’t. Not won’t, mind you. Can’t.”

Gustav drinks again, finishing the beer in his hand but he doesn’t reach for the second one. Not yet. “I just… I can see him screaming in the back of his mind but he’s so uptight and stressed that he can’t get out of it long enough to talk to anyone.”

“Mmm....” Georg nods emphatically. “And how he’s been treating Bill...”

“I honestly never thought I’d see the day when the two of them got past the point of throwing shit and screaming at each other....” Gustav mutters, as he thinks to the last fight between the front man and the guitarist. There had been no screaming, no shouting, no broken furniture... Just quiet anger, words spoken that were designed to cut to the quick, Bill refusing to even look at Tom as he hammered home his disappointment, his worries - the fact that he’d given up on Tom, his other half.

When Bill had said that he couldn’t give a fuck about Tom because Tom obviously didn’t give a fuck about him... The look on Tom’s face... sadness, distress... abject horror at Bill’s soft words had struck Gustav right in the gut, hard and unforgiving. He’d waiting in desperation for the rebuttal, the loud denial of Bill’s deluded assumption that Tom didn’t care because they were twins, they were _soulmates, for Christ’s sake,_ that Tom was sorry and nothing would ever tear them apart again... there had been only silence. Cold, heavy silence.

Head bowed, looking so so small curled up on the couch, Tom hadn’t even been able to look at Bill, hadn’t even raised his head from where he was staring at his trainers. Nothing really needed to be said after that. The absence of words said more than any apology ever could.

Bill didn’t even cry at his twin’s silence - just walked away and left Tom sitting on a tacky hotel couch alone and isolated from the rest of the band because neither Georg nor Gustav could bear to stay in that oppressive room to try to repair the bond that was already being pulled to breaking point between the twins.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them do that to each other before,” Georg speaks quietly, staring into the distance. “Every other time they’ve fought, it’s been violent, over the top, but they’ve always come back together. Always.”

“Always been ready to patch it up after a little while.” Gustav nods in agreement. “Five minutes of yelling, bitching, and a couple of punches and then they’re back together again like nothing ever happened.” That last silent fight of the twins had been a month ago. The cold war showed no signs of ending.

“Mmm.” Georg nods, takes another long pull of his beer. “You know...” he leaves the sentence open but Gustav decides to charge right in, say what’s on his mind because it’s now or never.

“Something’s not right.” Gustav points out the elephant in the room. “Something’s going on that we’re not seeing but it’s causing all of this, all the mistakes, and the war between the twins... And Tom right at the centre of it.”

Georg nods in agreement. “I would bet my entire guitar collection on the fact that Tom wants nothing more than to come in from the cold but something’s not letting him.” Gustav salutes him with his can, concurring with that statement. “In fact,” Georg sits forward, absently scratching his chin, “I would bet anything that little if any of this is Tom’s doing.”

“What makes you say that?” Tom lives for the ladies, for beer and cigarettes - all things he’s been diving headlong into for the last two months. It’s hardly like he was a monk before that - this is just the natural progression of that attitude, isn’t it?

“Tom’s not that much of a pussy hound, is he?” Gustav takes a minute to think about it , to _seriously_ think about what Georg is asking. No, is the honest answer. The boy likes sex as much as the rest of them but he’s not completely obsessed, despite what he portrays to the cameras. “And he’s always been really firm on putting his music first - he would never dream of ruining Tokio Hotel for the sake of a few girls and some cigs. You and I both know that.” They do. Tom’s always been about the music, his guitar and his band. Tokio Hotel is his baby, his dream, his life. He wouldn’t just chuck it away for anybody. ”And Bill...” Georg shrugs, “His twin has always always been his top priority at the end of the day. If Bill’s not happy, then Tom's not happy. I have never seen them clash like this. There’s musical and creative differences and then there’s plain all out war.”

“True.” Gustav muses on the subject further but Georg isn’t stopping now.

“And not to mention the fact that you’re kind of meant to enjoy going out, going to clubs and pulling girls,” he carries on. “He looks like he’s about to be shot every time he gets a phone call. When he actually deigns to get up, he’s like the walking dead, just shuffling where Saki or Tobi lead him, and he doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to. He sleeps at every fucking opportunity he gets now - even it’s just five minutes on the couch in the green room, he uses every chance to rest up because he’s pulling twenty hour days.”

Gustav nods. Tom’s been pulling so many hours and odd days, he probably can’t even recall what the date is anymore.

Georg points at him with his beer. “And, have you noticed that Tom _never_ eats now; he’s never down for breakfast, never awake for lunch, and he’s gone before dinner’s served. He’s got to be surviving on cigs and booze because I don’t hear room service going to his place when we’re in hotels. Nobody does that to themselves. Not willingly.”

“He’s young and dumb?” Gustav offers, but it’s a poor joke as he thinks of Tom’s face during tonight’s signing. Too thin, dark circles, his eyes hollow and his lips raw... It’s not Tom’s happy, smiling face from the start of this tour. He’s aged ten years in two months, lines etched around his eyes and his lips permanently pulled down in an unhappy curve … He looks old before his time but at the same time, Gustav’s seen behind that mask, behind the unhappiness to find that there’s a very small child looking out from behind those brown eyes, hands outstretched in a silent cry for help; lost and lonely and confused, buffeted to and fro by unseen forces pulling him in directions that he doesn’t want to go.

Nobody willingly does that to themselves; Georg is right.

“Question is... why?” The question is simple, the answer is not. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Gustav shrugs. “I don’t know why he’s being so secretive about things, fucking up so much but it’s stressing me out.” He frowns, “It’s stressing everybody out... You, me, Bill, David... Himself?” Gustav snorts as he says the understatement of the century and Georg rolls his eyes in agreement.

“He should be stressed.” Georg sighs, “After tonight’s fucktastic performance, he should be bouncing off the walls-“

“Try off the mattress,” Gustav snaps. “He’s gone out.”

“What do you mean ‘he’s gone out’?” Georg raises an eyebrow at the abrupt return of Gustav’s anger.

“I mean, he’s gone out. Wearing club clothes, sneaking into the lift, and out to a place where he can get drunk and bang another girl in a back room out.” The anger in Gustav’s voice makes Georg’s lip curl unconsciously. “He’s gone out.”

“…You’re shitting me.” Georg’s fingers crumple his empty can as the frustration leaks out of him. “For fuck sake, Tom.” He sighs to a boy who is absent from the room, from the hotel... from the band, or so it feels recently.

“No, I’m not shitting you. He had a row with someone in the hall way that I heard and then a couple of minutes later, he came out of his room, dressed up and ready to go.” Gustav grinds his teeth, his anger simmering. “I dunno what’s going through his head but he needs someone to sort him out.”

“What’s this? Fourth night in a row?”

“Fifth. And the headlines keep getting worse.” Both of them stay away from Bilde and the other rags but they hear things from the roadies, see them online while they’re browsing the web during the roadtrips, or after a concert. It’s impossible to be blind and deaf to the stories that are being blazed across the tabloids – asking if Tom is back on drugs, if there’s a fracture in the band, that Tom is a child star who is sinking into depression and the post-fame crap that they all have nightmares about.

“Fuck…” Georg rolls his head back, stretching out his neck as he sighs out the word.

“Yeah.”

“What we going to do about it, then?” Blunt. To the point. He knew he liked Georg for a reason. “It can’t go on like this – he’ll break the band up completely.”

“Well… I know what I want to do.” He's glad he’s had the beer now because he couldn’t imagine talking about this totally sober. He braces one foot on the table, mimes slapping something that’s bent across his leg a few times. “What do you think?”

“A spanking?” Georg’s lips curl into a smile, before the laughter bursts out of him, “You want to spank him?”

Gustav knows the laughter isn’t at him, knows it’s at the situation, the weird conversation that they’re having. “Why not?” he says, shrugging. “Why not put him down, tan his hide until he confesses why he’s been so fucking stupid and why he won’t talk, and then put him in bed-“

“Oh, really?” Georg sits forward. “You want to put him in bed? Our bed?”

Fuuuck. He knew they’d have to talk about this but it’s not how he wanted to bring it up. Oh well, deed’s done. Time to come clean. “Yes. Don’t you?” He turns it back on Georg who looks at him, green eyes calculating. He knows they’ve briefly talked about having a sub full time, not just for a night in a club which is how they’ve been getting by but that’s in the abstract. This is reality.

Georg nods, slowly.

“I think… We’re good, aren’t we?” Gustav points to them both. “We’re good together. The sex, the relationship – it’s good, isn’t it?” More nodding. It’s more than good – they’re stable, secure and they love each other; rare indeed in their glittering world of press and cameras and gossip rags. “But we’re missing something. We’re two Doms-”

“Yeah.” Georg sighs, “And we know that we can’t just bring in anyone to be our sub…” They’ve talked about it often enough – wishful thinking after a bout of hard and fast sex, more realistic discussion over a private dinner in Gustav’s room, it’s something that’s been coming up for almost as long as they’ve been together now. A year later and they’re still missing that third element but there’s nothing to be done – they’re not blind to the realities of their situation. “I love sex with you but…”

“But you want someone to Dom, and do it properly,” Gustav fills in the blank that Georg doesn’t say, “I know. I want to as well. Try as you might, you are _not_ a sub.”

“Neither are you.” Georg returns but there’s no fire in his words, just a faint smirk on his lips. “But you think Tom is?”

“I think he’s never explored it, if that’s what you’re asking. Personally, he’s figured it out yet for himself - at least consciously. He’s nothing like the subs who are confirmed, is he?” Gustav picks up the other beer, cracks it open as he thinks out loud. “ But when I see him, when I think about him, I’m more and more convinced he’s a sub and let’s face it…”

“He’s hot.” Georg grins at Gustav’s fond eyeroll. “What? He is!”

“Yeah, he is.” Gustav concedes the point. “And we’ve lived together for a long time – he’s not exactly all tough shit like he says he is.”

“Nah. Big softie, that one.” So true. “You only got to watch him with Bill or Scotty or his precious Mama and you know he’s not a hard man; that he’s not half of what he says in front of people.”

Gustav grins, “He says he’s all hardcore but I’ve seen him all snuggled up with Bill in his bunk watching a chick flick and actually _watching_ , mind you... not just being there for Bill. Not to mention the fact that the guy is a total cuddle slut with his _dear twin_ when he’s away from the cameras. And show him a spider in the bathroom...”

“He screams like a little girl!” Georg cackles, “ _Oooh, Saki, save me from the great big spider_ and it’s like this big.” More giggling before, “Oh and take the last slice of pizza or the last jellybean and he gives you this kicked puppy look and BAM! you’re handing it over before you can think twice about it. Those eyes should be illegal - I’ve lost so much food to them - him and Bill.” Voice turning slightly wistful, he waves a hand in the air, “Even when he sleeps, he’s all...” Georg mimics Tom’s natural fetal position of sleep, “Nobody sleeps like that when they’re secure and confident and perfect. That’s all about insecurity, and worry.”

“Not to mention the fact that he and Bill always used to share a bunk when we first started out.” Gustav gives a bark of laughter. “I don’t care how many times Tom said it was Bill who came to him, the fact that it’s Bill’s bunk says more than your lies ever could, Tom-Tom!” The fan nickname sends Georg into hysterics.

“Yeah, there’s no way he’s all he claims to be. We know way too much about him to believe it all.” the bassist delivers his final assessment by saluting an absent Tom with his beer can. “Tom, your secrets are so not secret.”

There’s a moment of quiet, broken only by the occasional subsiding chuckle from Georg, but the atmosphere is turning serious again, the merriment being ousted by the need to deal with the truth of the matter at hand.

“But yeah...” Gustav sighs.

“Indeed.” Georg’s frown makes a rapid reappearance to the party, his fingers restlessly tapping on the arm of the chair...

“But is he...?” Gustav can’t even finish the sentence.

But uncharacteristically, Georg charges straight at the big question in the room, ignoring any attempt to approach it gently. It’s very disconcerting, even though it has to be said. “But is he even gay?”

And there is the crux of the matter. Or one of them anyway. A few months ago, Gustav would have said that of course Tom wasn’t gay or even bi – he was a hardcore player, avid lover of the female body, connoisseur of the other sex. But…

 

_Two months ago_

_  
_

“Your music is shit!” Bill shouts as another Fallout Boy song blasts through the speaker of the docking station. “Haven’t we got anything decent?”

“No Nena!” Georg’s voice is plaintive as he staggers over to the fridge. “More beer but no fucking Nena!”

Gustav’s own i-pod is flat and Tom flaps away the minor inconvenience when he tells them this.

“Don’t need your shitty music, Gustav!” he says, holding onto his beer with one hand, waving the other in the direction of the bunks. “Mine’s under my bunk.”

“Who says we want your dumb rap, Tom?” Gustav calls out but he’s already moving out the door through to the bed area. Tom does have some other music on there – decent music, if they’re all honest – Metallica, Guns&Roses, Queen… Well hidden behind the rap but who the fuck cares? As long as it’s not Nena tonight, Gustav can take anything.

He stumbles along to the bunks, reaches the one he would instantly recognise as Tom’s because of the OCD tidiness of it. The bed is made, the pillow fluffed, everything neatly stacked away in its place, the duvet folded neatly down at the foot of the bunk. Bill’s by contrast? Bomb site. Absolute fucking bomb site. Clothes scattered everywhere, headphones trailing down to the floor, bottles of water thrown on the shelf above the television. How the fuck those two are twins is a question for the Gods, sometimes. Gustav kicks away one of Bill’s shoes, crouches down and pushes aside the sliding door to the cupboard beneath Tom’s bunk. Inside, there’s stacks and piles of stuff, and everything is neatly organised (so characteristic of Tom’s OCD yet again) but he can’t find the black i-Pod case - it’s not where it normally is, right at the very front of everything.

He digs further in, trying not to disturb anything, when he knocks his hand against something and hears a soft thump. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, as he reaches in with the other hand to try to repair what damage he just did. It feels – yes, it’s a stack of magazines - there’s only one thing it could be and he’s more drunk than he thought, he thinks, because he brings them out into the light to have a look at what’s getting Tom off these days.

It’s boobs, boobs, boobs, hey there’s a pussy shot, boobs, legs, boobs, really great boobs, stupid looking O face, some girl’s lips, boobs, another hotbox shot, man having a wank, boobs, boob, more vag-…

What the fuck.

Gustav flips back to try to find it – but – Oh God. He sits down with a thump on the door, narrowly missing another of Bill’s boots.

He didn’t mistake it – it is a man having a wank on the front cover of a grey and white magazine.

Nothing graphic, everything is hidden by careful placement of hands and some cloth but it’s pretty clear what the guy is supposed to be doing and when Gustav flips through the magazine, he finds it’s all like that – proper, softcore porn, mostly artistic looking pictures with a strong notion of sexuality behind them. Some dicks and stuff, but nothing too intimidating for a first timer – what the fuck is he thinking? Is Tom a first timer? Is he even curious?

Gustav flicks through the magazine looking for a date before turning to the front cover – it’s a May issue, but several years old. Tom must have been… what? Thirteen, fourteen when he brought this? So it’s not likely to be a gift for someone else now.

Gustav ponders as he looks at the mag.

It’s been well thumbed, the dog ears marking out how old the thing really is, and when Gustav looks carefully, he can see creases on the pages where the corners have been turned down to mark what he assumes are favourites. There’s nothing special really about those pages, some provocative poses but they’re all different types, some white, some black, some vaguely Asian looking, muscular and skinny, some wearing clothes and some nude.

He’s confused; not drunk enough to just brush it off like it’s nothing. Tom’s never made any mention of this – but why would he? It’s one gay magazine in the stack for the love of God, maybe it was just a gag gift from Andi or Georg….

But that begs the question, why wouldn’t he have chucked it out? They haven’t seen Andi in months, and Georg would have told Gustav if he planned to give or buy this stuff for Tom even as a joke. Which then brings up the fact that therefore Tom brought this for himself – why? He boasts about the other mags, freely gives them to Bill or Georg when they ask for one, but why this one?

Before he can think on it further, he hears footsteps and panics, shoving the magazine back into the stack, and replacing them all neatly, hoping that the order is right because Tom’s OCD like that and would know if Gustav’s been rifling through his porn. “Gustav?” It’s Bill.

“Here.” He calls, and his straining fingers find Tom’s music case at last – fuck’s sake, why couldn’t he have found that first so he didn’t have the whole confusing thing of gay porn in the possession of the most straight person he knows...?

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah, I got it!” he calls back, sliding the door shut. He hears Tom shouting something about boobs, and Georg saying something back about cock and Gustav rolls his eyes. So maybe not everything has changed.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Gustav finishes explaining what happened with the magazine, watches as Georg frowns, “But you still don’t think he’s gay?” he asks.

“No.” Gustav’s fairly certain about that – he’s seen the conquests that Tom brings back to his room, heard them through the walls, knows that Tom’s not entirely all mouth and no trousers.

“Bi, then?”

“I think he’s latent, at the very least.” Gustav rubs his eyes. “I don’t know… But from that magazine, I think he’s curious but you know…”

“When could he have tested it out?” Georg nods. They both know that the town where the twins grew up was not friendly to gays or bisexual people. For Tom even to have the magazine would have been difficult enough; to have actually admitted to experimenting… Well. The bullying would have just gotten worse and worse and that’s something nobody needed at the time. “Maybe he’s scared to do it?”

“After the image that David’s had him throwing around for years, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s terrified of anything to do with man on man all together.” Gustav frowns. “But you know…”

“So he’s been going out, non stop pretty much for the last… five, six weeks?”

“Try seven. At least.”

“Alright, seven then. What’s got him so hyped up?” Georg rests his elbows on his knees. “He’s exhausted, he’s not playing right, hardly eating. It’s hardly looking like he wants to go out, is it? Why is he tormenting himself like this?”

“I don’t know.” Gustav is stumped. “Mention a beer and he looks like he might puke on you.” They’ve both seen it happen. “Why the fuck is he driving himself, and by extension the band into the ground?” And that is the question -- who tortures themselves night after night with sex and alcohol when they blatantly don’t want it?

“Ask him.” Georg shrugs as he stands up, goes to the fridge for another beer. Gustav waves, indicating his need for more booze. “Let’s do what you say. Put him over your knee, or over the coffee table, or whatever and make him tell us. Being nice hasn’t gotten us anywhere. Maybe being cruel to be kind will get his attention, make him give up why he’s forcing himself to do whatever the fuck he’s doing.”

Gustav sits back, considering as he accepts the beer from Georg. He had only been half joking about spanking Tom, but actually the merits are clear. At the very least, his disapproval over what’s being going on will be made clear – both his and Georg’s.

The aftermath will be simple as well: in the morning, they get up, deal with Bill and then life goes back to where it used to be – music, good friends, and a decent review or two. On the other end of the scale, if Tom agrees to be their sub? The boy comes to bed with him and Georg and they all have fantastic sex, all goes well. And in the morning they’ll go to deal with Bill and whatever forces that have been driving Tom to rack and ruin, after which they can get back to making music and being a band again.

“Alright.” He takes a drink from the new can, deciding on a course of action. “Tomorrow night.”

“So soon?”

“Why wait?” He grins and Georg grins back. The anticipation is making Gustav finally feel back in control of something – a feeling that has been lacking ever since this whole issue with Tom started. “Tomorrow night, after the concert. Provided he hasn’t fucked up again, he won’t be too tired, will he?”

“Nah.” Georg picks up his empty cans, moves to throw them away. “He’s supposed to be having twin time tomorrow, isn’t he? Bill said that Tom was picking the film or something.”

“We’ll get him after that that,” Gustav decides, draining the last of his beer. “He’ll be slightly more… amenable to us then.”

“Using big words, Gustav.” Georg reaches for Gustav’s empties as well. “Be careful. I _like_ it.” He drops his voice, smoothing out his walk into something entirely sexual as he saunters away. He’s flirting and Gustav could be interested but…

“Not tonight, Hagen.” Gustav says, primly. “I have a headache.” That does it for Georg, who drops the cans in the bin, belly shaking with laughter as he staggers towards the bed to collapse in it, rolling around like a five year old on a sugar high. Gustav grins. Georg does have such an uninhibited way of laughing – if he was feeling up to it, he might even join him on that big bed. But tonight… tonight he is tired, even if he doesn’t actually have a headache. Tomorrow will be difficult for them, emotionally and physically. A good night’s sleep is vital to their plan, which means going back to his own room, sleeping in his own bed, and not indulging in what Georg is offering.

He stands, and Georg stops rolling around. “You leaving then?” The disappointment in his voice is mostly fake, just a tiny bit real.

“I need sleep, and I don’t think I’ll find it here tonight,” Gustav says, dryly. “Good night, Georg.”

“Night, Gustav.” Georg waves to him from the bed, already kicking off his boxers. “Sure you don’t want to stay? There’ll be a show.” His left hand curls around his dick, leaving no room for misunderstandings for the term ‘show’.

“There’s porn on channel nineteen,” Gustav offers instead, and he grins when Georg drops his hand, looks vaguely offended for a moment before bursting into laughter again. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Bright and early.” Gustav hears repeated back at him as he closes Georg’s door, wandering the few steps back to his own room and his rather empty bed. He wishes he could have stayed – Georg is one hell of an exhibitionist when he puts his mind to it, but there are bigger things at stake than a wank and some good times in Georg’s bedroom and he needs sleep.

He casts an eye to Tom’s door but there’s no light under the door or through the peep hole. Still out then. Part of him is envious of Tom who’s getting booze and chicks thrown at him but that’s a small, childish part of himself and the mature parts of his mind knows that what’s going on has to stop before it kills someone. He bites his lip, flicking his thumb over the keycard in his hand as he contemplates Tom. He’ll probably stay away until three or four if he’s not back already, which means tomorrow’s press junket is going to be crap-tastic.

Gustav sighs.

Tomorrow had better bring the answers they need, or this band is going to break completely.

And Tom will shatter before they can catch him.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s six o’clock and Gustav can feel the tension in his shoulders begin to rise. They’re due on stage in just over an hour, and Tom’s still looking like the walking dead, shuffling to where he’s told, not looking at anyone. It’s like he’s just given up, like, inside there is nothing, no hope, no drive, no need to front ….nothing. Even Bill is casting worried looks at him, hands fluttering around his twin like butterflies as he talks, but Tom barely answers, mumbling, talking to his feet, and Bill is looking more and more distressed over it by the minute.

Gustav is just glad that he decided to do it tonight – another late night and Tom looks like he might keel over.

Earlier, in the bus, he had grabbed Georg by his bunk, whispering in his ear, “Get your stuff. Everything you need for tonight.” And Georg nodded, reaching under his bunk for a black rucksack. They had briefly debated over leaving it for another night but when Gustav had gotten on the bus that morning and seen Tom’s bunk with the curtains closed, signifying the occupant was returned to sleep, he knew they couldn’t afford to let it carry on for another night. They had press in less than an hour - Tom should have been up and raring to go, not trying to catch up on the few hours sleep he should have grabbed in the hotel. 

At the press interviews, Tom had been quiet, subdued beside his effusive twin and even the interviewers had picked up on it, trying to draw Tom into the conversation with mentions of hot girls and the party life he was currently leading, but the guitarist had shaken his head, kept his answers simple and terse. David’s face got darker and darker as the interviews went on because Tom was just barely hanging in there, hardly present at all, and no doubt the next headlines to be printed would comment on such things.

Gustav had left Georg to his packing after that, knowing the bassist would make the right call as to what to bring, and headed down to the kitchen. He found Bill there alone, stuffing cereal into his mouth. 

“Where’s Tom?” he had asked. It was late, almost six o’clock and they were only minutes away from arriving at the venue. They were supposed to be up, waiting, ready to go but Tom’s absence was suspicious.

“Still sleep,” Bill had mumbled around his cornflakes. “He’s been like that since he got back on the bus this afternoon. “ Man, that was the finest it’s ever been cut with regards to time – less than two hours before they were due on stage and Tom still abed. When Georg reappeared down the stairs, they shared a look.

Rock and roll, then confession time. Tonight. 

Now inside the venue, they are finally all together, if not all awake. 

Bill is pacing nervously, Georg is resting on the sofa and Gustav is practising his jumps as he runs through the beats in his head. Tom curls up on the couch, looking all of about five and alone against the world even as Bill reaches over and trails a hand over his dreads to give him some measure of Twin Comfort. It’s been rare over these last few months, but if Bill is the one to make the first move, more power to him. Tom sighs, leans into the touch like a starving man, and Bill draws his hand down to Tom’s cheek, thumb stroking at the soft skin. He offers the comfort without words, and Tom takes it in silence, their eyes say more than words can admit.

All too soon, though, they’re made to move, forced to walk the short distance to the stage and Tom’s lips are tight, his lipring being abused in his nervous state, his hands starting to quake like they haven’t since the first few shows that Gustav and Georg played with the twins. Gustav wishes they could have given tonight a miss, gone straight to the hotel but it’s not fair to the fans, it’s not fair to the management, it’s not fair to anyone. They’ve paid for these shows, worked hard to get Tokio Hotel here and it’s not something they can afford to miss.

It’s not fair to Tom.

\--

In the hotel, Gustav waits.

The show went without a hitch - Tom didn’t fuck up, nobody instruments went awry, Bill didn’t fall over.... Everything was fine, much to David’s relief. 

But backstage was permeated with stress, the air thick with tension at half time as Bill fretted over their lack of mistakes because apparently that meant something bad would happen later. Tom paced, for the first time in a long time actually running through the songs note by note, holding his practise guitar and walking through each bar of music like he hadn’t done since they just starting out.

Georg had caught Gustav’s eye, worried about Tom’s sudden return to a habit he had dropped for years; it wasn’t jamming together with the bass guitar and Bill’s voice like they normally did, it was a rank amateur’s counting of notes, pacing out each verse and chorus in terms of technicalities - nothing like his usual carefree freestyling on the instrument.

Something big had to be causing that lack of confidence in his own abilities for Tom to go back to that.

In the van on the way to the hotel, David had tried to ask Tom why he had resorted such measures, obviously worried about more mistakes and received a curt response of, “Fuck off, Jost,” in reply. Nobody had spoken to the elder twin again until they arrived at their temporary home for the night.

Now in his room, Gustav bides his time.

Georg is in his own room, showering and getting ready, but his black bag is already in Gustav’s awaiting the his arrival before they go and retrieve Tom. Gustav’s already been in and out of the bathroom, changed his clothes to something more comfortable, traded his concert lenses for some more relaxed glasses, and laid a blanket over the coffee table. He’s all ready and he just has to wait for …. 

Outside in the corridor, there are more raised voices, just like last night. He hears a door bang, and he wonders what’s happening now. It’s a little late now to be going out, especially when Tom swore up and down he would have twin time tonight with Bill. He peers through the peep hole and sees Tom disappearing into the lift. What the fuck is going on?

Gustav pops open his door, peers into the corridor, sees Bill wandering up the other end of the hall in pyjamas and bare feet and he realises what he heard was another twin fight. He supposes they were lucky it didn’t escalate into an all out brawl like it has all too often before. “Bill?” He calls.

“Hi, Gustav,” Bill says, quietly. There’s no fight in him now that Tom is gone, and Gustav wants to reach out, touch his arm just to give the youngest member of his band some form of comfort. But he has to know where Tom has vanished off to, because if the boy has gone out, all their planning will be for naught. So he steels himself to ask the question he really already knows the answer to. .

“What’s up? Where’s Tom gone?” he asks. He’s too busy thinking to be really polite but Bill doesn’t seem to notice. He looks small and deflated like Tom did at the concert hall, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to hide all that height that he keeps going on about.

“Out.” Bill rubs a painted nail along his eyebrow as he shrugs.

“Out?” Gustav feels his temper start to boil. “What do you mean, he’s gone out?” It had better not mean what he thinks it does.

Bill shrugs again. “He’s gone out. Said he was staying in with me, got all ready for it, I even let him pick the film and then he gets a call on his phone and abandons me for some chicks and booze.” Bill scuffs a bare foot into the carpet. “He promised and then he just fucked off…” The hurt in his voice is clear - Bill is worried about his twin, even if he’s been dismissive of the widening rift between them in front of the cameras. Gustav knew that he had been taking a chance on letting Tom back in from the cold with the offer of movie night, and that Tom had rejected him and his offer must have cut Bill deep to the core.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he fucked off like that. I don’t know what’s going on with him, Gustav. He’s not even there anymore…. Not for the band.. not for me...” Bill trails off, his eyes sad and his lips pulled down. 

“Alright.” Gustav turns away. “Go back to bed, Bill. I’m going to go and find out where the fuck he’s going. This has gone on for too long.” Bill calls out a mournful goodbye to his back. “Night, Bill. See you in the morning.”

He’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket, dialing for Georg. “Hagen. Get down to the lobby. We got problems.” He doesn’t give Georg a chance to speak, just hangs up on him as he jogs to the lift, presses the button. Tom’s abandoned his twin for the last time, he thinks as he hammers a fist on the L button.

Come hell or high water, tonight is going teach that boy a lesson he won’t soon forget..


	4. Chapter 4

 

In the lobby, he sees Tom waiting on one of the leather sofas, waiting for someone to bring around the van so he can escape from the hordes of screaming fans who even now are pressed up against the windows, against the barriers hastily erected by the hotel as they arrived earlier that evening. They are never truly free of the fans and sometimes he wishes, as do they all, that they could get a moment’s peace, some time to themselves without being followed and papped and stalked. The receptionist nods to him as he strides across the marble floor, his trainers keeping his footsteps light and almost soundless until he gets to the main desk, taking a moment to observe the room. Tom doesn’t notice his approach, staring at his hands as they fiddle with his sweatbands, his mind obviously elsewhere.

Around the lobby, Gustav sees various members of their team waiting for something - probably for Tom to leave so they can clock off for the night after shoving him through the crowd of girls outside to the van when it’s been retrieved from the parking lot out back. It’s a full time job looking after this band.

There’s Saki waiting with Tom, standing beside the sofa, offering a silent supportive presence to his charge but he moves away when he sees Gustav by the desk after the drummer gestures to his fellow band mate. Saki accepts the wordless wish for private time and goes to talk to another security team member. Gustav take a moment to observe Tom properly; the lost weight, the defensive posture, the bags under his eyes that not even his cap can conceal. It’s been easy to ignore the signs for a while, Gustav realises; keeping the anger hot inside him has meant that he hasn’t seen the changes in his friend but sitting there, he looks so very alone that Gustav feels the heartstrings he hides away twang in sympathy.

It would be so easy to put this off, wait for another day, but who knows what tomorrow will bring? Who knows if Tom will be there in the morning?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, has been lurking the darkest thought that he might never see Tom again after a night like this. It’s so easy to imagine it; they’ve seen alcohol poisoning, they’ve all taken drugs in bathrooms and back rooms to know the blackness that can consume the bright light of morning. They’ve all heard the stories of teenagers choking on their own puke in random bathrooms, and part of him knows that every night that goes by, Tom runs the risk of doing exactly that - dying alone and afraid on a hotel room carpet as he struggles to breathe through his own bodily fluids, or drowning in a tub because he’s too out of it to know what he’s doing, or jumping off of his balcony because he’s so high out of his mind he thinks he can fly.

This life, this world of cameras and fans and money, it’s all sheen and brightness and fun on the surface but behind that there’s a sick depth to it, a price that must be paid and every night that Tom does this, he treads ever closer to paying it.

It’s that which drives Gustav on, forces him to listen to Georg and deliver the pain that he’s going to be giving Tom over the course of tonight. He has to push Tom, take him right to the edge that he’s been dancing along for so long now to make him come away from it, to make him give in and tell them what the hell has been going on.

He prays that it will work.

Behind him, Gustav hears a lift ding, knows it’s Georg coming to back him up and they end up matched pace for pace as they walk to the sofa and their quarry. He slides onto the couch to Tom’s right, Georg on his other side and it’s like Tom doesn’t even notice. He grabs for Tom’s wrist, keeping his body positioned so nobody can see. Georg’s arm goes along the back of the sofa, grabs a handful of Tom’s black shirt, holding him in place.

“’The hell?” Tom starts, jolting back to reality but Gustav leans in close, whispers into his ear.

“Be quiet. Listen to me. We’re going upstairs, together. You, me, and Georg.”

“Wha- No!” Tom whispers back, but Gustav notices that he’s not fighting, not trying to shout for security or one of the bellhops standing over by the front desk. He even keeps his voice down, trying not to attract attention.

“I said to be quiet. You are not going out tonight,” he says, and then, “Now get up.”

Tom looks at him, slightly dazed and confused and Gustav realises he has to make this really simple. Right now, to the outside world, they look like three teenagers having a chat, ready to go out, but if Tom kicks off that will vanish and they really will have some explaining to do. “Get up.” Tom looks at him, all wide eyes and no comprehension. Georg shares a look with Gustav. “You have two choices: either you come with us quietly and under your own volition or we will drag you there.” He sees Tom’s eyes going to his arms and knows exactly what he’s thinking. Tom might still be a skinny little fuck, all gangly legs and thin arms but Gustav’s a drummer – he’s got strength on his side and Georg has muscles on his arms that can bench half of Tom’s weight and more. If there’s a fight, two on one, Tom is not coming out the winner.

Gustav doesn’t give him yet another chance; he tightens his grip on Tom’s wrist, stands up and yanks the younger boy from his seat. Tom follows the forceful tug, helpless to do anything but move, what with Gustav pulling and Georg pushing from behind. He’s sandwiched between the older two, unable to sit back down or move away, and Gustav takes a second to survey the room. Nobody’s paying them any attention at the moment and he decides it’s time to make a break for it.

They move across the lobby, Gustav determinedly leading the way, and Tom following in his wake, having no choice to do anything but with Georg there to prevent the guitarist from running. Not that he could get very far - Gustav is fully prepared to actually drag Tom by his dreads upstairs if he has to - but it’s the principle of things. None of the security guards or hotel staff take a second look at them and when they get to the lift, they’re in even more luck: there’s one there already, open and waiting for them and Gustav drags their little procession inside.

Saki raises an eyebrow at them and Georg waves a hand, saying in that gesture that they don’t need the van right now, probably not at all tonight, if Gustav has his way. Saki makes the universal gesture for a phone: call me if you need anything, but he looks relieved. He’s been the one who has to go with Tom night after night, escorting him back into the hotel, actually putting the boy into bed some nights when it’s been really bad, so an evening off is not just a boon to Tom.

If anyone needs a break, it’s Saki.

In the lift, there is only silence. Tom tries to talk, to say something but Gustav just gives him the same glare he gave in the van and it has the same effect now; the boy is quiet, staring at the floor and he doesn’t try to wrestle Gustav’s hold off of his wrist. But both Gustav and Georg can feel the tension rising, the small box of the lift feeling smaller and smaller as Tom begins to lose that thin veneer of cool, getting more and more nervous the higher the number dial climbs. By the time the lift doors open onto their floor, Tom is panting, whimpering, restlessly rocking to and fro. Something’s up, he knows, and the silence is getting to him, making him anxious.

Tom likes control. But Gustav and Georg are taking it away, forcing him to follow them, do what they say. It’s driving him crazy.

They step out of the lift into a silent hallway, nobody around to see Gustav tighten his grip on Tom’s arm, striding forward so quickly that Tom struggles to keep up. He leads them straight past Tom’s door, though, and he feels Tom’s feet slow down, as he tries to twist to go back, “Wha- Gustav!” he says, confused, obviously expecting to be returned to his own room, but that’s not what Gustav wants.

Home turf advantage goes to Georg and Gustav tonight, which means not in Tom’s room. They need to keep Tom as off-balance as possible, make it that much harder to rebel. And that means an unfamiliar environment, the social expectation of good behaviour in another person’s area working against Tom if he tries to engage in a fight, the ability of Georg and Gustav to control even the minutest parts of the room only permissible in the drummer’s space.

“Be quiet.” Gustav’s voice is a whip crack in the soft opulence of the corridor.

Georg reaffirms his grip on Tom’s shirt, winds his other arm around Tom’s waist, using his greater mass and muscles to force Tom to keep moving, to not stop, because the minute that happens they’ll have bigger problems – like someone seeing them having a struggle in the corridor. While their own team might not worry, a stranger might, and they could attempt to intervene which would then give Tom a reason to escape. Or they'll film it or report it to the tabloids, and that’s the last thing Tokio Hotel needs, more negative headlines about a rift between band members.

They manage to make it to the end of the corridor, to Gustav’s room, and Tom only tries to buck when he realises where they are. As soon as he sees the keycard in Gustav’s hand, he tries to stop, putting the brakes on by digging his heels into the plush carpet. “NO!” he says, and it’s loud in the quiet of the corridor.

Gustav doesn’t say anything, but Georg wraps his arms around Tom even tighter, propelling him across the carpet, pressing him tight against the wall. “Stop fighting.” Gustav says, kicking open the door once the card reader beeps. Georg shoves Tom inside and he stumbles, almost falling to his knees as Gustav shuts the door behind them and turns to face Tom. Georg pushes him further back, forcing him to move towards the centre of the room and he only steps away when he’s happy with Tom’s place on the rug.

Standing alone in the middle of the large room, Tom has never looked more vulnerable; he’s twisting his hands together, biting at his lip ring, shoulders hunched over. He looks like he’s facing a firing squad, not two of his oldest and best friends.

“Tom” Gustav calls and the boy curls tighter into himself. “Tom, look at me.” It takes a minute or two – it’s almost like he has to pluck up the courage to do it but Gustav is pleased to see Tom looking at him dead in the eye with dark eyes, not just peeking out from under the cap. That gives him hope, makes him think that there’s a chance of fixing this and that Tom hasn’t just given up completely. When those lips part, ready to speak Gustav, blocks it before it happens, raises a hand to silence Tom before he can get on his high horse and demand to know what’s going on.

“No talking.”

Let the games begin.

\--

Once inside the room, Tom feels trapped. Exposed. Like the prey that has been captured by predators that he thought were on his side.

Gustav’s eyes are dark, something behind them that Tom doesn’t recognise, doesn’t know. He’s never seen it before; never looked so deep into them that he can find it. But it’s making him feel strange, making him feel hot inside because Gustav is so calm on the outside, so composed and put together. It takes so much to make him do anything that he doesn’t want to do that they usually don’t bother.

But now, there is fire behind that cool veneer, a fire that is banked and slow burning but Tom can feel the heat, can feel the burn on his skin and he knows it won’t take much to turn it into the forest fire he knows it could be, send it raging across the room and over Tom. And he wants to play with it.

Georg shifts, and Gustav nods. A conversation just happened that Tom is not privy to and he feels lost. Out of his depth. He’s not in control of this, doesn’t know the rules and, though he recognises the players – himself, Gustav, Georg, he doesn’t know what roles have been assigned, where he stands in relation to them. He doesn’t like this, and his heart starts beating double time, and his breathing starts to hitch. He’s panicking.

“Shoes, Tom.” Gustav’s voice is calm, gives him something to hold onto. An order to obey. He needs it, something to ground him, something to do with himself.

He bends down, slips them off, stands up again. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He settles for screwing up his t-shirt with them, winding his fingers into the black material so he has something to keep himself grounded. For a moment, he wants Bill here, wants his twin by his side to calm his suddenly pounding heart, needs to feel Bill’s pulse under his fingers to know that he’s safe and the world isn't coming to an end as he feels both Georg and Gustav’s heated looks.

“Socks.” Another order, another command to obey. He follows it, bending down again, putting his socks neatly away inside his trainers before standing again. Gustav likes order, likes things to be in their places. He really doesn’t know why he’s doing this – obeying – but the thought of being disobedient now terrifies him. Why?

Georg pads across the room, going to his bag but Gustav demands Tom’s attention with a snap of his fingers. “Look at me.” Tom looks, really looks as the drummer steps across the room, stands in front of him. Everything about this is too close, too much, but Tom can’t help but want more – want touches, tastes, and to stare into those endless eyes. Gustav’s hand on his arm is hot, searing into his skin and he can’t understand why.

“Shush, Tom.” Gustav stifles the gasp out of Tom’s mouth before it even emerges and Tom closes his eyes again. Why is he being so obedient?

He feels a small breeze at his back, before he senses Georg coming closer, pressed against his body from behind. It feels so weird, so bizarre because Georg is so warm when Tom feels so cold, so firm and stable like rock when Tom thinks if he shakes anymore he might just shatter into a billion pieces. Hands, broader than his own with stronger fingers come to rest on his waist, holding him there but Georg doesn’t go any further. It feels like he’s holding Tom together, stopping him from running, or falling, or drifting away from this room, leaving his own body behind.

“Hands,” Gustav says, his voice soft now.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes so he offers up his hands, palms to the ceiling, obedient to Gustav’s wishes. Then he feels something around his wrist and he jolts, startled out of his dream world by the cool feeling of leather around his left arm. It’s a black cuff, soft as butter with silver studs holding it together, a loop and D-ring on the side. His vision begins to waver but Georg’s thumbs start to move, rubbing small circles on his hips and it brings him back, brings him down from wherever the hell he was going.

Gustav takes his other arm, slides off the grey sweatband, throwing it onto the bed before wrapping the leather cuff around his wrist with calm, assured movements. The material is cool on his overheated skin. Gustav pulls it tight over the crease in the black leather - how much use must it have seen already because there’s no way it’s a new cuff. No way at all. He hears Georg sigh as Gustav slides the strap home. It must be strange for Gustav, to tighten them so much. He’s so much skinnier than either of them…

Gustav doesn’t do anything else, just stands there waiting for Tom to look at him. It takes him a moment or two to pluck up the courage to actually look at the blond in the eye but when he does, he’s rewarded by a soft stroke down his arm, and a tiny, half smirk. They stare at each other, and Tom feels like he’s been assessed, stripped down from the inside, and that Gustav can see so much more than he knows how to hide. He feels raw, and on edge even as Georg’s fingers start to move, trying to soothe his nerves.

Gustav just looks at him and suddenly Tom gets it, gets what Gustav is trying to say without using words that would sound insufficient and arbitrary and just plain wrong.

_I won’t hurt you._

_We won’t hurt you._

_It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to feel._

He breathes in, shudders out a breath. He can do this – whatever they’ve got planned for him, he can do it. They’re Gustav and Georg – not strangers. He trusts them; they’ve had his back for years now, seen the best and worst of him. He has no reason to fear them, just to fear the unknown. But if they’re beside him… he can put himself in their hands, trust them to make it through the unknown with him.

He nods. Gustav looks at him, and he nods again. More firmly. He tries to say without speaking, I trust you.

Gustav must have gotten the message because he clips the cuffs together, testing them with a finger between Tom’s skin and the padded leather to make sure they won’t just slide off of Tom’s bony wrists. When he’s satisfied, he looks up and Tom sees the fire begin to burn hotter again, sees a little of Gustav’s inner darkness come to bear.

He should be frightened as Gustav leads him over to the coffee table which has been covered in a soft blanket, folded to give proper padding. But he isn’t frightened, isn’t truly terrified. He’s nervous, and the temptation to run away is still strong but he’s not afraid like he could be.

A few feet away from their destination, Gustav pauses, and Tom feels Georg’s hands slip around to the front of his waist and unfasten his belt, sliding it out of the loops with a hiss. Gustav takes it, coils it up and places it on the dresser, his hands slow and deliberate. Another movement from behind him and Georg reaches around again, finds the button and zip to his jeans, unfastens them carefully. Then, the jeans are pushed to his knees. “Step out,” Gustav says and he obeys, mindless of the fact it leaves him in just boxers, t-shirt and caps. He doesn’t resist as Georg picks the jeans, hands them to Gustav who folds them neatly, placing them on the dresser as well, and the calmness of his movements reassures Tom. It’s still Gustav, it’s still the same boy- no, the same _man_ he’s always known. He waits, as Gustav comes back to lead him forward.

When his knees are pressed to the edge of the coffee table, he has nowhere else to go and he raises his eyes to Gustav, curious to know what he’s supposed to do now.

“Kneel on the table,” Gustav commands.

And he does.

“Good boy,” he hears and it’s Georg who speaks for the first time, brushing a hand down his neck as Tom closes his eyes, kneeling up. “Down,” Georg commands, and Tom obeys the hand that is pushing him down, pressing him into a position of submission: his hands by his head, his back a slope, his backside raised high in the air.

Stillness.

Gustav speaks.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
“Stay.” He says softly but firmly and he sees Tom nod. Georg steps around him, kneels beside Tom’s head, keeps his eyes on Gustav as he reaches around to Tom’s boxers, lowering them. Beside Georg, Tom whimpers but he doesn’t try to fight, doesn’t try to get free even though Georg is braced for it, his hands ready on Tom’s arms when a thought occurs to him and he gestures for Gustav to halt for a second.   
  
Tom’s still wearing his cap and sweatbands, using them to shield his face from view. Georg wants to stop Tom hiding, wants to see his reactions instead of that fucking cap and he reaches over, carefully lifts the item off, and Tom lets him. He grumbles a little – he’s very attached to his headgear but he doesn’t actually object to Georg’s move. When he goes for the undercap though and the sweatband, Tom tries to move his head away, protesting with a moan but Gustav leans down, resting his hands on Tom’s sloping back.  
  
 _Don’t fight it,_ those hands say and Tom settles reluctantly to allow Georg to remove one of his last vestiges of cover. Georg manages to get them off those dreadlocks without incident, and suddenly Tom’s face, which had looked wan and tired downstairs, looks much younger, much more innocent as he gazes into Georg’s eyes. His lips are full, his cheeks flushed, his pupils so wide they make his eyes look black.  
  
It’s beautiful. Georg hopes they get to see this side of him more in the future, see the innocence and the vulnerability that Tom tries so hard to hide but can’t. Not when they’ve stripped him of both clothes and control, cuffed and kneeling on a table; they’ve taken away his ability to disguise himself, and it’s thrilling, intoxicating, intense to have such control over another person.   
  
He and Gustav share a look before the drummer steps to the side, braces his feet a comfortable width apart and delivers the first blow straight to his arse.   
  
It’s a full-handed, high powered one - no holding back, no gentle love tap to get started. Tom jolts forward, feeling the pain immediately. The sharp crack is immediately followed by a gasp from Tom.  
  
Gustav gives him no time to recover, going straight for another one. This time, Tom bucks, hard – trying to get away from the burning sensation which has only just begun to register, but Georg is prepared, holding Tom down with his arms, shushing his half formed words.  
  
“It’s okay, Tom,” He says quietly, but Gustav keeps going, delivering the blows with devastating efficiency. Georg doesn’t envy Tom right now; Gustav has powerful arms, used to hitting stuff for a living and Tom’s backside is such a lovely target. Even from where he sits, Georg can see the faintly golden skin turn first pink before deepening to a soft red and the gasps are increasing. Tom’s really feeling the pain now.  
  
Gustav nods at him and lowers his hand. Tom braces for another impact but Gustav just touches the hot skin, running his fingers over his handiwork. Georg wonders what it feels like but the pride in Gustav’s face is unmistakable. The man always did like to make a good job of something and that was not just a good job. Tom quakes even harder under Gustav’s steady fingers, unsure of what’s going on, confused at the softness of the touches on his skin.  
  
“Why are you going out, Tom?” Gustav asks, his voice and hands gentle in contrast to the rough treatment he just delivered. But Tom just shakes his head, doesn’t respond back with the answers they need.  
  
Gustav tries another tactic, “Why have you been ignoring Bill?” Still no answer and Gustav is starting to look very frustrated again. He shrugs, stands back to the side, and raises his arm. But he gives Tom one last chance.  
  
“Why did you fuck up during last night’s concert?” Tom just shrugs, and Georg watches as Gustav brings down that arm again, harder than before.  
  
Tom takes the punishment more stoically now; obviously willing to keep his mouth shut and endure the pain than to end it and talk. Fine. He’ll get the message soon enough and Gustav delivers each blow with striking precision, never hitting the exact same place twice in a row, making sure to cover Tom’s backside from the top of his thighs to the fleshiest part of his cheeks. After another furious bout of movement, Gustav stops, lowers his arm again, and brings his hands back to Tom’s backside, stroking at the heated skin. Tom moans, shifts, fucking _whimpers_ at the sensation – Gustav’s grin is fleeting but true.  
  
“Why have you been ignoring the band, Tom?” he asks, but Tom just shakes his head. “Why have you been going out, drinking and partying? Who is making you do this?” Tom doesn’t answer but Georg feels Tom’s hands clench at the last question and he frowns. Why that question – oh. He raises an eyebrow at Gustav, nods down at Tom who still has his face buried in his arms. Something about that last question tripped him, and that’s where they need to focus their efforts. Georg had suspected that Tom was not acting alone, that he didn’t actually want to do what he has been doing night after night for so long but there’s been no proof until now. Gustav tips his head in acknowledgement and re-adjusts his stance to go a third time.  
  
This time, Tom takes it even more quietly, just rocking into the smacks, breathing hard, panting as the pain increases but he doesn’t speak. Gustav purses his lips as he finishes, asks the next question, “Why are you abandoning your twin?”  
  
For the first time, Tom responds, “Because he’s fucking annoying!” he says through gritted teeth.  
  
Gustav slaps his thigh, hard. “Why have you been going out every night?” he demands.  
  
“Because I am seventeen and I am allowed to!” Tom snipes back. He’s pushing at Georg’s arms, trying to reassert some authority but Georg pushes back, forcing Tom to stay down in the submissive position; it’ll take a lot more than a skinny guitarist to make Georg move when he doesn’t want to.  
  
“Why are you breaking this band apart-“  
  
“I am not breaking anything apart! It’s everyone else who has a fucking problem!” Tom’s voice is climbing higher and higher, a sure sign that he is lying.  
  
Gustav shrugs helplessly at Georg. He can keep going all night, delivering consistently powerful blows, but at this rate it’ll be lunchtime tomorrow before they make any headway into what’s really being going on. Tom is as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be and nothing but nothing will shift him if he doesn’t want to be shifted. If he manages to get himself in the right mindset, they’ll be hard pushed to make him admit to his own name, never mind anything else.  
  
Georg taps his fingers, debating. “Gustav,” He says, and the other man looks at him, waiting. Georg gestures with his chin, take my place – and he sees the blond nod. The changeover is seamless, Gustav’s hands firm on Tom’s arm before Georg moves away and gets to his feet with a little stumble.   
  
He stretches, waits for Gustav to get comfortable before he goes to the rucksack beside the dresser, and flips it open. Gustav frowns when Georg draws out what he wants – the implement that will hopefully break Tom wide open – but they both know it’s necessary. They talked about it over breakfast how they were going to do this and Georg was adamant that they have more than one way to deliver the initial pain. Tom is stubborn and they have to outstubborn him and maybe a hand just won’t do. Turns out he was right.  
  
He goes to stand where Gustav did, adjusts his stance to give him maximum range and draws back his hand. Gustav braces his formidable arms for the impact.  
  
Georg swings.  
  
The crack that echoes around the room is much louder than even he expected. Tom’s gasp is caught in his throat, a strangled sound that goes straight to Georg’s dick. He draws his arm back, goes again, and Tom groans, deep inside himself but Gustav nods to Georg, signalling him on. The wooden paddle in his hand is made of smooth planed oak, light enough to be wielded one handed, heavy enough to make the blow really count and it cost a bomb – hand carved and a work of art. Georg loves it but he rather suspects that Tom does not share that love right now.  
  
Tough shit.  
  
He swings again, and again, aiming for a wide spread of hits and Tom’s backside deepens from the cherry red it was when Gustav finished to a darker, heart red. The heat radiating from it is impressive. After the fifth blow, he stops, uses his other hand to caress at Tom’s skin, running his fingers down between those delightfully red cheeks just to see what reaction he gets. Tom shivers and Georg grins. Sensitive, then. But back to business. “Why are you going out every night?”  
  
Tom gasps, rocks. “Haven’t – haven’t you ever – _argh oww,_ haven’t you ever wanted to go out, Hagen?” he says but there’s a hitch in his voice and he wipes his face with his sleeve in a way that makes Georg suspicious that he’s closer than he wants to admit, almost at the point of giving in.  
  
Georg shrugs. “Fine. Have it your way.”  
  
He brings back his arm, sends another blow crashing down and Tom groans at the pain, his knuckles white where they’re clenching his t-shirt tight, his face hidden behind his arms but Gustav nods in approval of Georg’s continuing of the punishment. Tom’s almost there. just a little more and he’ll break to reveal this secret, the knowledge that's been devouring him from the inside out, let them find out why he’s been acting the way he has.  
  
There’s very little pleasure for Tom here; this is about punishment, and drawing out the real reasons as to why he’s been acting this way rather than being sexual or arousing, and Georg doesn’t make any attempt to palm his own dick or to reach around Tom to see if he’s hard.  
  
Pleasure later, pain now, that’s the rule. After the next eight blows, he nods, asks again, “Who’s behind this?”  
  
Tom tenses, rocks harder, trying to alleviate the pain but there’s nothing he can do short of sitting in an ice bath right now. “You – you can’t m-m-make me tell!” he threatens but his voice is thick sounding, his words fumbled and choppy. His back is tense, tenser than before and there’s something about that response that makes Georg think that they’ve found something, suddenly stumbled onto the big secret behind the last few weeks of fuck-ups and lateness of Tom’s part. He raises the paddle again, and doesn’t bother to say anything else as he brings it down on much abused flesh.  
  
The cry of pain is loud, genuine and it cuts Georg right to the heart but he knows they’re almost there, almost at the end of the punishment. He strikes down hard, peppering his blows all over Tom’s backside, making sure to hit evenly and consistently over the flesh in front of him. Tom rocks back and forward now, his hands coming up to grip at his hair, and his moans are becoming a near constant sound in the background as he tries to hold onto whatever secret is eating him up, but Georg is determined and so is Gustav. He walks around the table, switches hands with the paddle, starts again from the other side and Gustav has to reaffirm his grip on Tom as he tries to surge off the table.  
  
“Who is making you go out every night?” Georg asks and Tom doesn’t come back with a smart answer, or a snappy retort. He just shakes his head, unable to speak but still able to deny them an answer.  
  
Georg strikes again, just the one blow and then rubs his thumb in the wake of the paddle, “Who is making you fuck so many people when you don’t want to?” he asks, and Tom’s head dips lower at the mention of the girls that have been appearing in the articles along with him. He still doesn’t answer.  
  
The next blow strikes at Tom’s left cheek, “Who is hurting you, Tom?” and while Georg is expecting a haughty reply of _you, you bastard,_ he doesn’t get it. Instead, he hears something – the thing he’s been hoping for all night - there – there is the sound that signals the beginning of the end of the punishment.  
  
A sob.  
  
He halts, waiting to see if he can hear it again and Tom’s shoulder start to shake as another sob leaks out. Gustav relaxes, his hands moving from Tom’s arm to his dreads but Tom doesn’t seem to notice, his head bowed low as he cries into his arms. Georg runs his fingers down over Tom’s cheeks, checking out his handiwork as he waits for a moment, catches his breath. “Who is hurting you, Tom?” he asks softly, and Gustav looks down, waiting for a response as well. Tom just shakes his head but Georg doesn’t worry. The break has come; the answers they have been waiting for will follow soon enough. He hefts the paddle, hoping that this is the last time.  
  
“Who is hurting you?” he asks, as he delivers another blow, significantly softer than any of the others he has given so far, barely a tap if he’s honest, but the pain in Tom’s backside will magnify it, send screaming messages to his brain of pain and hurt and just answer the fucking question. Or so Georg hopes. He expects the shake of the head, repeats the blow, and asks the question again. Tom gives the same answers, attempting to claw back what little control he has left to himself but Georg won’t let him – he’s in no position to have any sort of power right now.  
  
He draws back his hand, gives a sharper blow, and then another, and a third, trying to pour out his anger into those three strikes because Tom’s trying so hard to not give in and it will be so much easier if he did, so much easier for him if he actually let them in but apparently, Tom doesn’t get that right now. “Who is behind this, Tom?” he implores, “Who’s hurting you?”  
  
“D-David.” The whisper is quiet; almost just breath between lips but Georg hears it like a chorus in his head. And then he actually pays attention to what was said, and he frowns at Gustav, confusion written all over his face.  
  
“David? David Jost?” he asks, just checking that Tom isn’t talking about another David but he doesn’t know why he would be – they don’t _know_ another David.  
  
Tom nods, “Yes, ” He whispers and Gustav’s face gets very serious as he reaches under Tom’s shoulders, raising him up to go onto all fours. He lifts Tom’s head up, cradling his face in his hands as he looks into Tom’s eyes to make sure he’s not lying, not trying to hide after an announcement like that.   
  
“What is David making you do?” he asks, and Tom tries to back away, back down, so he doesn’t have to look at Gustav’s face but the drummer is stronger than he is, keeping him looking straight at him, not letting him hide away. “No, look at me. What is David making you do?” he speaks calmly but firmly and Tom responds to it, even as tears carry on falling.  
  
“He’s been the one making me go out, taking me to the clubs and shit…” he breaks off, has to breathe deep to get the next words out. “Every time I say no, he says… he says that he’ll just go back to the execs and--“ he cuts himself off, trying to hide what he just said, but Georg presses his hands in warning on Tom’s backside.  
  
“What will the execs do?” Georg demands.  
  
“T-No!” Tom tries to get up but Gustav forces his hands to stay on the table, pressing his full weight on them until Tom winces, stops struggling.  
  
“What, Tom?” Georg asks again. “What will they do?” Georg and Gustav have never been overly fond of the executives – the men in suits hardly deigning to meet the band unless it is absolutely necessary but when they do, it’s either pretentious fawning over them, stroking egos and borderline inappropriate praises or hard-line attitude and demands for them to play on image, or let the twins take centre stage. Sometimes, Georg does have a thought he’d like to share with the world, even if Gustav is content to be silent, but the twins are constantly being thrust forward when they’d rather not be. To hear that the men at the top are involved is not a good thing, Georg knows, not a good thing at all.  
  
Tom sighs, a long one of defeat and recognition that he has to stop running now, one that’s broken mid-way through with a hitch and a half strangled sob as he rests his head on Gustav’s shoulder, rocking back and forth mindlessly as he whispers out his answer. “If I say no... He’ll go the… go to the executives in charge of us… of the band … and they’ll force Bill….” He breathes in hard, and Gustav’s thumb strokes his hand to give him some measure of comfort. “They’ll force him to get with a…”   
  
“With a girl?” Georg fills in, when Tom stutters to a halt.  
  
He nods, his dreads swinging from the movement. “David said his image… it’s … virgin? And they don’t like that …. The girls don’t like it … but I couldn’t let them do that to him… Bill’s …” Another sob, and Georg rests his hand on the small of Tom’s back, trying to let him know that he’s not alone. Tom stutters on, determined to finish what he was saying. “It would k-k-kill him – he wants to wait for his t-t-true love and even faking a relationsh- a relation- being with a girl would be wrong…”  
  
Georg strokes his hand down Tom’s spine, following the dip and curve under the shirt that still covers him. “So why are you going out instead then?”  
  
“B-because they said that… I need more p-p-press; I don’t know...” Tom rolls his shoulders, rocking again. “Every time I said no, David said he’d… he’d phone up… that he could have a g-g-girl here for Bill in less… less than an hour…” Georg feels his anger start to rise but at David this time – playing off of Tom’s over protectiveness as a big brother is not okay; it’s taking advantage of a vulnerable teenager, one who would have no other choice but to go along with this vile plan.  
  
“Why didn’t you come to us?” Gustav asks. It’s a good question – they’ve been friends for a long time; living in each other’s pockets in the tour bus and making music constantly has only brought them closer. Why did Tom cut them out when he’s always come to them before?  
  
“He – I – if I came to you, he s-s-said he’d push B-Bill to do…” Tom shudders, his back going tense again and Georg frowns. “He’d m-make Bill do something with her – like…” but Tom cuts off, sobbing again, as Gustav rubs his hands, and Georg is left to fill in the blanks. They’re frighteningly easy to fill.  
  
“They’d make him do something sexual – is that what he said?” he asks and Tom nods into Gustav’s shoulder. “They’d make Bill do something sexual with the girl if you didn’t agree to go out?” He asks, just to make _absolutely_ sure what he’s hearing is the right thing.  
  
Tom nods. “A-a-and if I didn’t sleep with s-som… a girl, then he… they would count it as the same as if I s-said no.” Gustav’s face turns angry. For a second, Georg can see real rage there before it’s hidden again behind an expression of care, of understanding of Tom’s situation. Back to the wall, nobody to turn to, threats against his twin on top of everything. No wonder he was drowning.  
  
Gustav looks at Georg, his expression clear - _any more questions?_  
  
Georg shakes his head. They know enough to get by right now, know enough to piece together the rest of the sordid story for themselves. It’s a sad state of affairs but now they can try to get somewhere with it, pulling Tom away from the threats that the executives have been piling onto him. But that’s for the morning. Tonight Tom’s going nowhere but the bed; he’s exhausted and emotionally broken.  
  
He gestures to Gustav to stand up and he places his own hands around Tom’s side. “Come on, sit up,” he says and Tom comes willingly, his movements slow and unsure as Georg helps him to kneel upright. Gustav steps forward, lets Tom hold onto his arms as the head rush causes him to wobble threateningly. A tear slides down his cheek and Gustav wipes it away tenderly with his thumb even as Tom looks away, ashamed of his break down. Tremors still rack his body, sobs bursting out of his throat even as he tries to suppress them. Georg says nothing about them, choosing to let Tom deal with them in his own way. Instead, he slips his hands down to Tom’s waist, drawing his body backwards.  
  
“Let’s get you off the table, okay?” he says, and Tom shuffles backwards, trusting Georg to guide him. When he goes to actually stand, though, there’s a frightening moment when his knees buckle and he almost would have hit the floor if Georg didn’t reach out and hold him tight.  
  
“Sorry!” Tom gasps out, as Georg adjusts the grip on his waist.  
  
“Don’t worry. We’ll just take it slow.” Georg keeps his voice calm, soothing, and gentle. Tom is coming down – out? – from a very deep place, and he’s starting to feel the physical effects already. Gustav steps around the coffee table, giving Tom someone else to lean on as Georg moves them towards the bed. Tom’s boxers slide off his legs, are left abandoned on the carpet as the trio make their way towards the bed and to rest. Tom doesn’t say anything about them – Georg wonders if he even noticed to be honest, but he doesn’t comment on it because just placing one foot in front of the other is hard enough for Tom at this point.  
  
They get to the bed and Gustav stops them, reaching down to Tom’s cuffs to separate them by unlinking the chain. Both he and Georg work together to strip off Tom’s shirt, the oversized top easy to remove and it leaves Tom in just the cuffs in front of them; even though they’re both fully dressed. He doesn’t say anything, just offers his hands to Gustav in obvious anticipation of removing the cuffs, but Gustav denies him, clipping them back together and Tom looks vaguely frustrated as Gustav runs his hands up Tom’s arms, pulling on the link, but there’s no fight in him left to object.  
  
“On the bed,” Georg directs. “On your back.”  
  
Tom crawls onto the oversized bed, slumps down onto the mattress with a sigh but almost immediately he arches up, “Ah – Oh, ow!” he cries and Georg shares a grin with Gustav as they watch Tom react to the unpleasant discovery of spanked backside plus any form of sensation equals pain all over again.  
  
But Georg has spoken and when Tom tries to turn over, he reaches out to grab Tom’s arm, sitting on the edge of the bed. “No, I said on your back.”  
  
“But it – oh, ow!” Tom can’t finish a sentence, trying to turn over, to get away from the pain, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “Please – it hurts!” he begs, and Georg finds something beautiful in this side of Tom, the begging, the trembling, the arching of his body as Tom tries to escape the heat in his behind. To see someone who is usually so in control of himself, of everything he does, so undone is moving, erotic and captivating.  
  
“No, Tom.” He says and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gustav moving around the bed, to sit on the other side of Tom. His eyes are dark as they flick to Georg’s, and his rarely ever seen smirk is firmly affixed to his face.  
  
Tonight is about to get even more interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

Tom continues to arch up, the fresh pain in his backside making him unable to settle but Gustav has a cure for that, even if it is beautifully amusing to watch. It’s just getting Tom more and more stressed out and that’s not good for him right now. He reaches out, feeling Georg’s eyes on him as he places a hand on Tom’s thigh, just resting it there.

Tom freezes, his head thrown back in as he raises himself off of the bed, and Gustav can feel the muscles under his palm flex as Tom senses what’s happened. When no demand – to move or remove his hand – is forthcoming, Gustav uses his thumb to stroke at the juncture between thigh and hip, and Tom shudders as all the tension just leaves his body in an instant. His eyes close, his hands wind into the sheets beneath his fingers as Gustav’s thumb continues to make little circles against firm skin.

Gustav knows how sensitive a person can be after a spanking. He’s seen it in on the few subs he and Georg have found in clubs and lounges but Tom is like nothing he’s ever seen before, the tiniest touch sending shockwaves through his body, making him feel everything, gasping at even this minute amount of contact. This isn’t normal sensitivity, this is the next level – _hypersensitive_ \- and he can’t wait to see how many other ways he can test it, push it, make Tom squirm with it but he’s not cruel enough to do it to him tonight.

Sparing a glance at Georg and seeing him utterly captivated by the beautiful boy between them, Gustav turns his attention to moving this up a level. He moves his hand up, resting it low on Tom’s belly and when the dreadhead moans, he feels the vibrations and his own dick twitches. Jesus, this is…. He has to take a second, breathe deep because it’s more intense than even he predicted. He leaves his hand there, just waiting for Tom to make a move, to say something, just to respond in some way so he knows that it’s okay, that this is what he wants.

It’s several minutes before Tom’s breathing becomes more even, and he is well on the road to being somewhat calm but Gustav waits for something more definitive than that. He needs Tom to ask for it – it doesn’t have to be verbally, it doesn’t have to be anything more than a push of his hand, or a look with clear intent but he’s not moving without it. If Tom doesn’t want this, if Gustav has misread the signals, it will undo all the trust and bond they have built up over the last five years, never mind what they have managed to do tonight. So no, he’s not trusting his dick with this. Tom needs to give them just a little more if he wants this.

“Please.” And that’s what he was waiting for. It’s so quiet, he might have missed it if he wasn’t paying rapt attention but it’s there – Tom asking for something, anything. But Georg gives him a look, raises an eyebrow and Gustav gets what he’s asking. A little play?

He smirks. Maybe just a little.

Gustav slides his hand down, stops it just above Tom’s dick where it’s half hard, resting against his thigh. “What do you want, Tom?” he asks, and he sees Tom’s hands tightening in the sheets. But he doesn’t speak. “You want my hand?” he asks, but Tom doesn’t say anything. “You want me to touch you? Touch your cock?” he asks, but Tom jolts at that, bites at his lip ring as he turns his head into the pillows.

He looks… tense. His lip ring is being chewed ferociously, his eyes moving under closed lids as intermittent tremors make him shiver and quake beneath Gustav’s hands.

Gustav sends a look to Georg, who is frowning. This is not how this is supposed to be. Tom is supposed to be hard, wanting - he’s supposed to be desperate and vocal. They both know Tom is not a quiet bedmate, so what the fuck is keeping him mute now?

Oh. _Oh_.

Gustav feels a wave of realisation come crashing through his mind. This is indeed not how it’s supposed to go. Every sub they’ve dealt with before has been a confirmed one, either professional or just from a personal perspective. The few male subs they’ve met with have all been relatively comfortable with their sexuality, able to accept the touch of men because they admit they find it pleasurable, experienced in having another guy touch them on their dicks, their chest, making them feel.

Tom hasn’t.

Tom hasn’t had another guy touch him, hasn’t had another man give him pleasure like that; hell, he’s never been turned over the coffee table and spanked into giving up a traumatic secret like that. Tom has never confronted his sexuality, and suddenly Gustav is touching him like this, telling him to ask for something that he’s probably never even considered. No wonder he’s tense.

_Fuck_.

Gustav sees Georg out of the corner of his eye, knows that he’s made the same connection and he has to fight the urge to slap himself upside the head. Stupid, amateur mistake to make, he thinks to himself; challenging Tom like that when he’s probably still caught between subspace and reality, in the fragile emotional area that leaves you feeling raw and exposed and so very at odds with everything. He’s not thinking like a Dom should right now – he’s thinking of his own pleasure and that’s just not right.

He goes to pull his hand back but – “-es.”

He looks at Georg, wonders if he heard right. Georg looks right back at him, face amazed. Did he hear that? Did Tom just ask for him to...to touch him? To touch his dick? He turns to ask the question outright, not wanting any other misunderstandings. “Do you want to be touched?”

It seems Tom has lost the courage that let him say that word, though. How much courage does he have left, Gustav wonders, because he has used so much already. But not all of it has gone because Tom nods. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, his lip being mauled by his teeth, his hands pulling the sheets beside him into strange patterns, but he nods.

He nods.

Suddenly, Gustav feels pride. Not at himself – that was a fucking stupid mistake he’s going to have to slap himself and Georg for – but for Tom. After everything they’ve done, he’s still willing to trust them to take him that one step closer, to challenge his long held notion of his own sexuality.

He lets his hand slide down to rest on Tom’s dick and feels Tom freeze underneath his grip, every inch of his body tensing up. He opens his mouth, a low moan escaping him into the pillows and Gustav leaves his hand there, hoping it’s the right choice. Georg waits beside him, a calming presence for Gustav but he has no idea how Tom is responding to the bassist now. Beneath his palm, Tom is hardening, slowly but Gustav knows enough about his own body to know that being hard does not always correspond to enjoyment of the situation at hand. It’s all too easy to assume that but he’s not going there, not when he’s already screwed up once tonight. But he hasn’t heard the word _no_ at this point, and it gives him a small amount of hope that he’s actually doing the right thing.

When he feels Tom starting to relax again, Gustav heaves out a silent breath, shares a quick sidelong look at Georg before he challenges Tom one more time. “Are you ready?”

Tom nods.

“Good boy.”

\--

“Good boy.” Gustav says and Georg sees Tom shudder at the sound. Whether it’s the words themselves or just the tone of praise, he doesn’t know but Tom has never looked so vulnerable as he has right then; his face turned away from Georg, his hands clenched tight in the sheets, his lip ring being bitten and chewed like a life line. Georg feels the need to touch, to stroke, to reassure begin to rise. He rubs his hands together, looks at Gustav to make sure that what he’s going to do is okay but Gustav just shrugs. It’s up to him; he’s a Dom, and he will have to make the move now.

He scoots up the bed, sitting level with Tom’s chest now, and reaches out a hand. When his palm connects with Tom’s chest, they both shiver – Tom from the contact, Georg from the overwhelming sense of completeness; he’s hyperaware of every sensation, every feeling that ripples through him. The nipple under his palm is tight, hard enough to cut glass and Tom groans when Georg moves his hand just to test the waters so to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gustav nodding in approval, his hand moving slowly over Tom’s still hardening dick.

Gustav stays quiet, his fingers moving calmly and confidently and Georg takes his lead from that, keeping his mouth closed but his fingers busy as he begins to test Tom just a little, pinching the dusky nub between his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb and Tom doesn’t disappoint. His moans are heartfelt, his legs coming a little further apart to allow Gustav better access, his lip being mauled between his teeth as he accepts the feelings being offered.

This time it’s Georg who offers the praise, “Good boy, Tom.” As he reaches over with his other hand, to find Tom’s other nipple and this time he enjoys the gasp the words bring, the arching of spine that presses Tom’s chest deeper into his hands. He chuckles and hears a faint echo of it behind him – Gustav is pleased with the response as well.

Tom is panting now, his moans definitely pleasured rather than pained, his lip ring being licked now rather than chewed, his hands coming up to cover his mouth but Georg doesn’t like that – he wants to hear Tom in all his glory, not through the muffle of his hand and he reaches up, takes the chain of the cuffs and pulls it down, forcing Tom’s hands away from his face. “Don’t hide,” he says, softly but authoritatively. Tom’s courage has all but escaped him now, though, as he shakes his head, tries to pull his hands back up to where they were, looking ashamed of the noises coming out of himself.

Georg isn’t having that though. He thinks that it’s a shame to take away those delightful sounds and both Gustav and his dick seem to agree with him, so he rocks up onto his knees, shuffles up the bed, and in a few swift moves, has the short length of chain between the cuffs secured behind one of the bars of the wooden headboard. Now Georg can get his moans and sighs unhindered and Tom has nothing to hide behind. Tom moans as he pulls at the cuffs, whimpering as he tries to bring his hands down, but Georg knows just how futile that is right now and he amuses himself watching the muscles in Tom’s arms flex and tense as the boy still tries anyway.

Another moan, deeper and stronger than before, catches his attention, shoots straight to his dick. When he looks down, he sees such a pretty sight - Tom’s cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes wide as he watches Gustav’s hand on his groin.

The drummer sees Tom’s eyes on him and gives him one of those little half smiles as he reaches out with his other hand to rest it on Tom’s thigh again, while the one on Tom’s dick moves slowly, so slowly and carefully it might as well be a work of art beneath those fingers rather than human flesh and blood. Georg sees Tom’s hands curl into fists between the slats, his arms tensing as he fights to bring them down to cover his mouth, but the moans are escaping unimpeded as Gustav works him over; the wood is strong and Tom’s arms aren’t going anywhere.

Georg reaches down again, finds a readily peaked nipple waiting for him and when he brushes his hand over it, Tom quivers, arching up into the touch again, his lips parting and Georg can’t help but wonder what it would be like to slide his dick between them, or one of his favourite toys, hell, even his finger; seeing that mouth that so frequently spews fond abuse at him be put to better use is a very appealing idea. Not tonight -- that would really freak Tom the fuck out and he’s kind of not hoping for that sort of reaction -- but maybe later, if Tom agrees to this for more than just tonight, just maybe then he could get his wish.

Sliding down a little further, Georg sees Tom turn his attention to him and freeze. Why? he wonders, thinking he’s done something wrong again until he follows Tom’s line of sight and then he gets it.

And how.

While his left hand is occupied with Tom’s nipples, pulling and pinching them gently, his right is palming his own dick through his jeans, trying to alleviate the pressure and Tom’s eyes are fixated on it, watching as Georg pushes the heel of his hand into the obscene bulge. His tongue darts out, flicks at the lip ring again as Tom’s pupils dilate, trying to take in more of the sight. He doesn’t even notice when the hand on his chest is removed and Georg chuckles just a bit as he sits back on his heels, lets his hand unzip his fly slowly. He moves carefully, not hurrying or fumbling, and he sees the pulse in Tom’s neck flicker as Gustav’s fingers slow to a halt as the blonde sees Tom’s fascination with the show Georg is putting on for him.

Inside his jeans, his dick is hot, heavy in his palm and he undoes the button as well, peeling back the flaps of his jeans to expose his groin to the sight of both of the people in front of him. He didn’t bother with underwear – not with these baggy jeans worn soft by years of washing and wearing, so it’s easy to pull out his dick, cradling it in his palm and he sees Tom’s eyes widen at the new sight, the lip ring getting another flick. Georg is pleased with the reaction. He’s not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, and he’s proud of that fact, but to see another’s approval, even if it is approval slightly tinged with fear, is an ego boost and it makes the pleasure coursing through his veins take another heady dimension.

On the bus, it’s locker room rules – nobody looks, nobody comments, nobody makes any attempt to compare sizes when they’re getting dressed, or stripping down. Once you’re dressed, then it’s every man or boy for himself, but when there’s a real chance for comparison, then it does not happen.

To see Tom actually looking, watching as Georg slides his hands up his dick, thumbing the head, squeezing and releasing, is a head rush, makes him feel warm all over as that eager gaze burns into him. He doesn’t say anything, sensing that it would break the spell that has only the faintest of grasps on Tom, but he allows his other hand to come up, and strip off his shirt one handed to leave him bare chested and open to the groin for both sets of eyes to take in.

Gustav nods his approval, provoking him on with a dark gaze and a darker smirk, but Tom is still just wide eyed. Georg has to remind himself that this is probably the first time he’s ever seen anything like this, from porn or real life, and that just makes it twice as hot; that he’s the one breaking down another of Tom’s barriers, making him confront his sexuality head on. He rises up onto his knees again, his hand moving faster as he drinks in the scene in front of him: Gustav with one hand loosely clasped around Tom’s dick, the other resting on his own bulge under his shorts, and Tom stretched out, legs spread, his arms bound up by cuffs and chain, and his face so open with raw emotion as he watches Georg take his own pleasure, freely and without inhibitions that usually surround just a private act.

It’s too much to look at for long and Georg throws his head back, rocking into his own fist as he feels the rush coming, the white behind his eyes growing to encompass every inch of his vision as he throws himself into the pleasure without regret. It starts low in his belly, tightening and familiar and hot, running through his veins with a reckless abandon, climbing through his skin like slow fire and he opens his mouth, moans out a wordless cry of ecstasy as he comes, hard and fast, his hand milking every drop of white from his body. When he finally comes down from the high, it takes a second to refocus, his hand still wrapped around his cock but still now, the flesh hypersensitive and it would be almost painful if he wasn’t so relaxed. Every muscle in his body is limp, the last waves of orgasm trickling over him, teasing him gently. He slumps backwards, onto his heels and finally opens his eyes. He wants to see what Tom made of his display, of his exhibitionist flaunting of the pleasure that Gustav’s fingers have been denying to Tom.

He’s not disappointed, not in the least. Tom’s face is still open, still captivated with watching Georg’s hand on his cock but the pink stain hasn’t faded from his cheeks, his lips are puffy and so kissable from where he’s been biting them - he looks utterly debauched and that’s just from watching. Imagining what he will look like after orgasm, after sex, after a session with a spreader bar and one of the vibrating plugs in Georg’s collection - it’s almost too much to consider, especially just after coming, but the bassist can already feel blood rushing to his groin even at the mere thought of Tom like that.

Before he gets carried away again, he looks over at Gustav, who is leisurely stroking at his own crotch, his movements unhurried as he trails his fingers around Tom’s cock – on his thighs, up to his belly, stroking across his hips but no longer touching where Tom so obviously wants – no, needs it.

He raises his eyebrow at the blonde, surprised that he hasn’t let Tom come first but then Gustav gives him a hard look and he gets the message – even though tonight is about Tom’s pleasure, pushing his boundaries, it’s also about showing him a taste of what he can expect from them in the future if he does choose to side with them. And that means that unless it’s explicitly stated, it’s always the Dom’s pleasure before the sub’s. Tom has to wait for them to take him over the edge, wait for permission, whether verbal or physical before he can come, but not before. Gustav has always liked that rule, applied it firmly whenever he has been actively participating in a session with a submissive.

He nods at Gustav, waiting to see what the other man has in store for Tom.


	7. Chapter 7

 

“Look at me.” Gustav’s voice is quiet, but Tom still jolts from where he’s been staring at the spent dick in Georg’s hand, the spell around them fracturing but not completely broken yet. Tom’s still hard, his dick throbbing between Gustav’s fingers and his eyes are still covered with a glaze of pleasure. A pink tongue darts out, swipes again at the lip ring and Gustav feels his own cock twitch at the sight; temptation has him by the balls and Tom doesn’t even know how much.

Georg sighs, his fingers coming away from his own cock, rolling his head back to release what little tension is left, and Gustav knows it’s his cue to step it up again. Georg likes to put on a show, draw every eye in the room to him when he’s playing like that; Gustav’s watched it many times now; but he doesn’t really share that kink. No, his is a little more…. Frustrating. For Tom, at least.

“Look at me,” He commands when Tom’s eyes start to drift closed, and he relishes the feeling of control that envelops him as those beautiful brown eyes focus on him, staring straight into his own. “Eyes on me, Tom,” He says, softly, and Tom licks his lips, nods slowly. Eyes on the prize, Gustav thinks to himself as he reaches down, digs the heel of his hand into his groin like Georg did and Tom’s cheeks bloom into heat again.

But he doesn’t close his eyes.

Gustav slides off the bed, leaning against the bedpost to give himself some support before sliding the waistband of his shorts down, leaving him in just his boxers, kicking the outer garment away from his feet when he’s done. Screw being tidy for just this once – he’s in too deep to think about mundane things like that. Instead, he reaches his hand inside the checked boxers, wrapping his fingers around his dick and God, that feels good, he thinks as a little moan escapes from his lips. He’s been hard since he started spanking Tom and it’s only gotten worse as time wore on, the anticipation of this moment keeping him going, allowing him to ignore it until now.

Tom shifts, restless as Gustav touches himself, but he is denied and that’s not going to fly now. “Stay still,” Gustav orders, his hand not stopping moving around his cock, and Tom stills, his legs sliding a little further apart, and it gives Gustav ideas about being between them, having them wrapped around him, but not tonight. Not tonight. Inside his mind, though, the image lingers and he lets it, imagining what it would feel like, how easy it would be to chain Tom like this all night, or spread his legs further with a spreader bar; or even just some rope…

His mind throws him scene after scene, all featuring Tom, and Gustav uses the slick gathering at the head of his cock to lessen the friction as he glides his hand back and forth, years of familiarity with his own body allowing him to control how close to the edge, to the white light he actually is.

Control is key.

He stares at Tom but Tom’s feeling the strain of holding on, his knees coming up to his chest as he seeks to provide some form of friction but that’s also not allowed. “Stop,” Gustav orders, his own hand falling away from his dick and he hears Tom’s groan of despair as Georg’s hands come up to force him to drop his legs, prohibiting him from getting even the most basic form of relief. Tom throws his head back, exposing that long swan neck to them both and Gustav really wants to wrap a hand, a chain, a collar around it…. Feel that pulse fluttering under his hand like a trapped butterfly, curl his fingers into the tender muscle and skin there, and pull it tight, force Tom to come into the blinding white where even his breath isn’t his own anymore.

His hand goes back to his crotch, and he lets out another moan. Tom’s not looking through and Gustav orders, “Look at me.”

But Tom shakes his head, trying to bring his legs up again and Gustav feels his temper rising again at his wilful disobedience. He breathes out, breathes in, breathes out again. Scaring Tom right now won’t do anything good, only make him angry and completely destroy what they’ve done over the last hour or so, and he needs that to stay intact, keep the progress strong which means being firm but gentle.

His hand falls away from his crotch again, and he says, “Look at me, Tom.”

Another shake of the head and Gustav steps back to the side of the bed, lifts one knee to rest it on the mattress, and reaches out. Tom starts when his hand makes contact, touching the boy’s face and gently pulling him to look up at him.

“Look at me,” Gustav says, so softly that it’s just breath shaped by tongue and teeth, nothing more, and Tom licks at the silver in his own lip, eyes full of something that Gustav can’t fully recognise – he sees lust there, lust and fear and something indescribable that is neither of those two things but… he can’t figure it out, and he strokes his thumb along Tom’s cheek, trying to impart some measure of comfort, of reassurance that everything’s okay, that nothing is going to happen that Tom doesn’t want. He doesn’t know if he manages to get that across, but he tries anyway, needing to see that understanding happen, needing to know that Tom gets that they won’t hurt him like David’s been hurting him; that what they’re doing is out of love, love and care rather than greed and arrogant pride.

Tom’s eyes flutter closed, and he presses his cheek into the hand against his face, long lashes and full lips lending his face a vulnerability that Gustav so rarely sees in him, a feminine twist that Tom so vehemently denies even as Bill embraces it. It’s unsettling to see when he’s the cause of it; unsettling and yet so damn gratifying because Tom’s showing him this, letting him see another side to the cocky, arrogant playboy that few ever get to know. If nothing else happens, if Tom decides that _no_ is his answer when they put the question to him, he’ll take away this moment, this precious snapshot of someone who is usually so guarded and he’ll treasure it for the rest of his life.

“Keep looking,” he says and Tom nods, his eyes opening again.

Regretfully, Gustav lets his hand slide away, trails it down to Tom’s chest, plucks at a nipple and Tom gasps, the sound shockingly loud after the quietness of that interlude and Georg chuckles from where he sits beside Tom, jeans still undone. The bassist’s hand is still resting over Tom’s cock, just holding it gently and he begins to move it again at Gustav’s signal, making Tom sigh, his legs spreading again as the pleasure begins to build.

Gustav backs off a little and Tom’s eyes follow him, wondering what’s going to happen now. He goes to speak but Gustav shakes his head. “No. Don’t,” He instructs and Tom bites his lip, keeping those words inside and Gustav feels the sweet rush of control through his veins, as he strokes his cock, the other hand braced on the bed post. Tom’s gaze is hot and he can feel it moving over his skin, sending paradoxical shivers up his spine. When he opens his eyes again, he stares into Tom’s, issuing a silent challenge to keep looking, keep watching as Gustav flies towards his orgasm, his hand moving faster and faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to propel himself ever closer to his climax.

He dreams of teaching Tom to know his body like this, teaching him how to bring pleasure to Georg and himself before dealing with his own, forcing him to wait until Gustav says _yes_ to an orgasm, and if Tom tries to do it anyway – there’s always a cock ring or even a chastity belt and then he’ll be really desperate, aching and begging and moaning –

It’s with that thought that Gustav reaches the peak, his sight turning to white as he cries out, his hand moving on autopilot now, milking himself dry with long strokes of calloused fingers and palm. It’s only years of drumming practise, of working with hands that are numb and uncooperative that allow him to grip onto the bed post, keep himself upright and not go face down over Tom. It’s been _years_ since he came that hard, so long that he hardly remembers the last time, and he trembles slightly at the thought that’s _**Tom**_ that’s done this to him.

Several moments pass, maybe even a minute or two before he’s ready to open his eyes – to see Tom’s face, to know what seeing Gustav lose control so up close and personal has done to Tom but when he does, he’s not disappointed.

\--

Tom’s face is beautiful, Georg decides as he watches him stare at Gustav. The honesty in his expression is stark; there’s no mask, no hidden emotions or lies – he’s entranced by Gustav’s little show, his lips full, his eyes dark and sultry, his cheeks full of high colour. When he swallows, Georg’s eyes go to that long neck, and watch as his Adam’s Apple moves, and he has to restrain the urge to reach out, place his fingers on it and tell Tom to do it again. The act of something so simple turned into something so erotic is new to Georg.

Gustav sighs, unclenching his hand from around the headboard and Georg nods to him. _Are you good?_ He asks with the movement and the other man nods back, _I’m okay_. Gustav’s breathing hard, a sheen on his skin like after a concert and he’s trembling like he’s coming off an adrenaline high from a session in the gym, but he’s got a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth and his eyes are bright; he’s more than good, he’s on top of the fucking world.

Georg shifts as Gustav takes his knee off the bed, gives some breathing space to Tom and Georg flexes his fingers. Beneath his hand, Tom’s dick is still hard, hot and heavy against Georg’s palm. Tom rocks upwards, trying to get some friction going to bring himself off but Georg shakes his head, lifts his hand away. His message is clear – either it’s Georg’s way or no way and Tom throws his head back again, exposing that neck that calls out to Georg for kisses and love bites, and moans long and low, a tear of frustration leaking out his eye. His legs come further apart, his hips tilt but the movement is aborted before it begins and Georg nods in approval, skimming fingers along one tense thigh as he uses his actions to praise Tom’s self-control.

The first tear is quickly followed by a second and Georg sees it, looks at Gustav for confirmation that it's Tom’s turn now. They’ve done a lot tonight; carefully prised his secret out of him, delivered pain, made him watch as both of them get their pleasure while he suffers, desperately hard and wanting, and now it’s time for them to deliver the other side of their promise. Gustav nods, and Georg watches as he tucks himself back into his boxers, that sense of neatness coming back to the fore.

When Gustav reaches out, Georg slides his hand off of Tom’s cock, kneeling up again to fasten himself back up as the other man takes over his role of touching, teasing, pushing the boundaries. Georg hisses as the rough material of his jeans rubs against the sensitive flesh of his dick, creating a sensation that is almost painful again, compounded as he slides the zip up and the cold metal presses hard against the soft flesh inside. It takes several seconds of waiting for his nerves to settle before he feels confident enough to relax again.

When he’s ready, he doesn’t go back to kneeling beside Tom – he wants to be closer than that, needs to feel the body beneath his hands, on his skin. Instead, he lies down on the bed, stretching out beside the nude figure, and he can’t resist trailing a finger from that delicate throat down to the hard cock between Tom’s legs. It still amazes him to see Tom’s response; the gasp, the moan, the flexing of muscles beneath that faintly gold skin. He can’t get enough of how responsive Tom is, how easy it is draw out gasps and moans and whimpers from those lips, watch him quake and arch up at the mere suggestion of fingers and touch. Georg pinches a nipple and Tom doesn’t disappoint, a cry escaping from his throat, raw and wretched sounding.

He’s ready.

Georg watches over the arching body between them to see Gustav copy his position, lying alongside Tom, facing Georg. They’re touching, teasing, playing with Tom and he’s lost to the sensations of Gustav’s fingers on his groin, confidently teasing him as Georg toys with his chest, so it’s small wonder he hasn’t noticed how close they are to him yet. Georg nods to Gustav, and the drummer reaches down and wraps his fingers around the base of Tom’s cock in a firm hold.

Time to take it up a notch, Georg decides.

Tom whimpers, confused at the change of pace, and when nothing is forthcoming, he whimpers again, a little questioning sound that is so lost, so desperate that it makes Georg’s dick begin to harden again. The pure want in that sound, the need for touch is so enthralling – it throws up images in Georg’s mind; dark images of keeping him like this for hours, tying him to the bed and keeping him there all night, teased and tormented and driven out of his mind with desperation and desire.

Tom throws his head back but there’s no relief to be found, Gustav’s determined fingers prevent anything close to climax and Tom can’t get anywhere even as he tilts his hips, pushing into the hand around the base of his dick like it’s going to do anything. When it doesn’t, he moans again, opens his eyes and stares down at Gustav’s hand in such confusion that it makes Georg chuckle – it’s like he can’t process what he’s seeing, the complexity of the situation beyond him as he rocks into the hand, trying to rut out his orgasm. Gustav tightens his grip and Tom falls into the pillows again, his legs spreading even further, the furthest they’ve been all night but he stops moving, trying to claw for his orgasm on his own terms. It must be so maddening, to be prohibited from coming after so long but there’s still fun to be had.

He tries to speak, his lips forming words but no sound emerges. Gustav’s having none of it.

“Shush, Tom.” His command is smooth, authority firmly ground into the tone and more tears of frustration come now, Tom’s mouth opening into an O of need and want. When Tom tries to speak again, Georg smiles, doesn’t bother with words, leans in…

And kisses him.

He swallows the moan that comes out of Tom’s mouth, the needy sound disappearing before it can even truly be heard rather than felt, and Georg smiles into the kiss before he breaks away, wanting to see what damage he’s done to Tom now. He’s not disappointed, not at all. Those puffy lips parted, his eyes so hazy with needy desire, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. He looks utterly debauched but still innocent, and Georg is torn between wanting to preserve that fragility and destroying it with both hands and his mouth.

He leans again, presses his lips to Tom’s and this time, the other boy is so much more responsive, giving as good as he gets, and suddenly Georg is aware of the fact that even though Tom’s never done this before, he’s not inexperienced by any means. He’s had girls, had hands and lips and teeth on his body, had numerous sexual encounters and he knows that Tom’s a skilled lover when it comes to women, the satisfaction coming off the girls when they leave his hotel room stuck in Georg’s mind for the longest time.

He tries to test it, using every skill in his book and Tom gives it back with interest, until they both draw back, panting and hard. Tom’s eyes are bright, his cheeks as well, and his lips are kiss swollen and look so fucking tempting that Georg can’t resist reaching up, running his thumb across them.

He goes back in for more, seeking to push Tom’s boundaries even further and he uses his tongue and teeth to drive Tom crazy, biting softly on his lip and Tom gasps, hips surging upwards and Gustav chuckles at the strength of the reaction. Even the most professional sub they had hadn’t been this responsive, this raw in their pleasure, and Georg immediately re-evaluates his decision to hire a one when they go back home. This will ruin any experience in a club for the foreseeable future.

He pulls back, catches his breath for a moment. Tom groans, throwing his head back as he gasps out a _please!_ and Georg chuckles at the futile gesture of submission. Hasn’t Tom learnt that his pleasure is dependent on them and nothing that he says or does will make them change that?

When he sees movement from the other side of the bed, he looks over to see Gustav, hard again as he watches, wide eyed.

“Like that?” He asks and Gustav gives him a lazy smirk back. It was hot, it says, and Georg raises an eyebrow because there’s a look in Gustav’s eyes – _I could do better_.

He leans back, propping himself on one elbow. “Go on then,” he says.

Time to see what Gustav’s got.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Gustav grins. The challenge that Georg just issued is one he’s familiar with, he’s taken up many times before and made it a point to at least draw even at.

He nods down to his hand where it’s carefully wrapped around the base of Tom’s cock, and Georg slides his own hand closer, ready to take over when Gustav pulls away. The changeover is so smooth that by the time Tom lifts his head up to stare down his body again, Georg is already gripping tightly and Tom huffs as he drops his head back, frustration written in every line of his skinny frame.

He’s getting close now, pain probably is starting to bleed through the pleasure and they’re almost at the point when they have to stop or risk causing either physical or emotional harm. Although both of them know Tom well – five years is a long time to get to know someone – they don’t know his sexual limits well enough to push right up that line, to let him drift into the abyss before they pull him to safety. To do that now… it’s a disaster waiting to happen, and as a Dom and as a person, Gustav’s not willing to risk that much, not for anything.

But he can go a little further, a little harder. Tom can take more. Nobody’s quite ready to stop yet.

Gustav reaches up, pulls Tom’s face towards him with a gentle hand, and he’s pleased to see that Tom doesn’t fight him, doesn’t try to make him let go. Instead, he comes easily, letting Gustav position him as he chooses, loose and pliant in his own skin. It’s a far cry from the tenseness that permeated his body when he first arrived in the room. He leans in, and Tom’s eyes flutter closed. Good boy, Gustav thinks as he presses their lips together.

Tom tries to fight back, to play with him as he played with Georg but Gustav won’t let him get away with that. He dominates the kiss, using every tip and trick in his not inconsiderable repertoire to force Tom to take the submissive role, sliding his hands down to play with Tom’s nipples to give himself an unfair advantage. He’s not above playing dirty to get what he wants. He pinches at the left one, and Tom moans, spine arching up. Gustav hears Georg’s voice, soothing Tom down again, but he doesn’t want Tom to be calm, he wants him to be driven utterly insane and he does it again, with the right one this time, pulling the rosy nub between finger and thumb. Tom bucks, hard, and Georg sighs, and Gustav can sense the wry gaze on his skin as the other man lets him know that he’s feeling left out again.

Tough shit.

It’s his turn now.

Pulling back, he tries to see what chaos he’s wreaked this time and he’s more than pleased at what he sees.

Tom is this close to being utterly destroyed. His legs are wide apart, his hands clinging to the bars of the headboard, his head thrown back to expose that lovely throat that Gustav knows would look so good in a collar or a chain. And there – right where the painful pleasure is coalescing, where Tom’s entire world is currently focused – is his dick, rock hard and dark, Georg’s hand pale next to it. It looks painful, and Gustav can’t resist reaching out, running his finger over the crown of it, and Tom cries out, raw and uninhibited.

“Please!” he wails, more tears leaking out and Gustav laughs, a dark little chuckle that forces a shiver out of Tom, and he reaches up to kiss Tom again, pulling more moans and whimpers out of him, drinking them down like the best cider he’s ever tasted. It’s beautiful, he thinks, as he reaches down to his own dick, pressing his palm against the hardness, this desperation that is tearing Tom apart, ripping his seams, forcing him to rely on others for pleasure.

Georg taps his shoulder and Gustav nods. _Let’s put them both back in the game_ , he thinks.

Across from him, Georg lays back down beside Tom, reaches up to kiss him again, and Tom goes willingly, allowing his mouth to be dominated again, Georg using a very different style to Gustav but no less effective. The little pecks, the soft bites, using his teeth and tongue and lips to make Tom respond, forcing him to give back. It’s incredible to watch. One day, he’s going to have to just sit and watch the two of them play, have Tom tied up and let Georg go to town on that lean body, doing everything from kisses and groping to full-on sex but not tonight. Tonight, he wants in as well, and he wraps his hand around Tom’s cock, just above Georg’s, and Tom bucks again, a low groan of pleasure coming from deep inside, but Georg’s mouth muffles it, takes it, stops it from being properly heard.

Gustav moves closer, reaching up to that long neck, kissing and sucking at the tender skin there to produce raw redness, love bites that will darken to black and then fade through the rainbow back to ordinary skin, not fast enough though and they’ll be lingering marks of what happened tonight, constant reminders of the dangers of keeping secrets for Tom.

Gustav moves closer, reaching up to that long neck, kissing and sucking at the tender skin there to produce raw redness that symbolises his domination over Tom. The love bites will darken to black then fade through the rainbow back to ordinary, unmarked, untouched skin but not fast enough though. They’ll be lingering marks of what happened tonight, constant reminders of the dangers of keeping secrets for Tom.

He looks forward to seeing them, to pressing his fingers into them – just enough to let Tom know what he’s thinking, to make him hard all over again no matter where they are – and Gustav isn’t even thinking of what if Tom says no because he just wants to pretend, to imagine, to believe right now.

Hungry for more, he kisses a path to Tom’s ear, presses his lips to just below and behind it, and Tom gasps, the shudder running through him telling Gustav that he’s struck gold. Paying attention to Tom in the clubs and bars where they get to watch the Kaulitz magic at work has certainly paid off, and he uses every bit of that covertly gained knowledge to drive Tom wild – the spot behind his ear kissed so softly, the hollow at the base of his throat subjected to a devious tongue, the juncture of hip and thigh being caressed by his thumb – it’s all bringing Tom to his knees, so to speak.

Tom’s panting, reduced to murmurs and moans, and Gustav feels Georg’s hand loosen around the boy’s cock, not enough to let Tom come, but enough to send a message to Gustav. He gets the meaning of the signal, doesn’t need words to explain what Georg is trying to tell him.

It’s time.

Carefully, slow enough that Tom isn’t aware of it consciously, Georg’s hand slips away, but he keeps Tom occupied with more kisses as Gustav moves into position, moving to sit cross-legged beside Tom’s knees. When he’s ready, Gustav slides his hand around Tom’s cock, feeling the heat seeping into his skin, and he feels the jolt of contact recognition and hears him gasp, ripping his mouth away from Georg to stare down at Gustav.

Gustav stares back up at him, keeping his movement slow and soft, aware that Tom’s over-sensitised skin won’t tolerate roughness right now. Tear tracks streak Tom’s face, his lips moving in a soundless prayer – for what, Gustav doesn’t know but he can guess, release, rest and raw need for something more. He keeps it calm, very soft, no pressure and gradually he sees Tom relax a little into the touches, and Gustav gives him a tiny half-smile as a reward.

He looks into those brown eyes, sees behind the glaze of lust and need and want, and stares into emotions deep and terrifying. He sees worry and confusion and tiredness all blended together. Tom knows that this is not a fix, this is not a solution. What they’re doing in this bed, in this room, what they have done — it’s not going to fix everything because it’s not a case of sex and then everything’s better. This is the beginning of a long road of change, of adapting to new dynamics. There will be pain, pain and confessions, and no doubt more tears and anger and stress.

But he can also see behind those eyes there’s a calmness that usually only appears when Tom’s on stage - in the zone, Georg calls it, and Gustav knows it well – and to see it here, it means that on some level, Tom’s accepted this. Already. He tries to speak back to that calmness, to communicate that they’re only doing this if Tom wants it and it must get through – at least some of it – because Tom nods, and when Gustav’s hand slides down just a fraction, another deep moan comes from deep inside him, spilling out his mouth in slow motion and Georg leans down to catch it with a kiss.

Hand over hand, Gustav confidently draws Tom’s orgasm closer, using what he knows feels good for his own cock and adjusting his technique with the responses he gets. Every gasp and moan and whimper guides him to make it better, make it more pleasurable for the boy who is utterly dependent on him right now.

Georg stops the kissing, leaving Tom’s lips alone after a deep, soul-destroying devouring of his mouth, drawing back to let Gustav see Tom’s face again in its entirety and it’s so worth it. Tom’s eyes are tightly shut but his lips are parted, slick and soft. He chews on the lip ring like his life depends on it, a pink tongue flicking at it as Gustav reaches down, presses two fingers behind Tom’s balls to find the perfect – there it is. Tom shudders, his hips rock and his hands clench, exactly what Gustav was aiming for.

A constant litany of moans and please and more and yes pour out from Tom and there are a few tears as well, trickling down into his dreads as his head is thrown back, but Gustav stays calm, driving Tom towards that white rush, the peak of everything he’s been wanting since they got him on this bed.

He rocks his hips, trying to thrust up to get some control, his back arching up, but Gustav stills his hands and waits. “Stay down,” Georg whispers, a hand coming to Tom’s chest, pushing him down into the mattress.

Tom whines, a thin, high sound that shoots straight to Gustav’s cock, but he also knows that this has gone far enough. Tom is too close now, too desperate and it’s no longer right to keep him waiting. Georg shushes him softly, reaches a hand up to where Tom’s are behind the bars of the headboard, and Tom grips onto it, seeking comfort from the most simple of touches as he fights to stay down on the bed. Georg smiles at him, but Tom’s eyes are shut, unable to deal with the mass of sensations and feeling and emotions that are bombarding him, hiding away from them again as Gustav continues to push towards the edge, leading him ever closer to the inevitable end.

It’s seconds later that Gustav feels the change, sees Tom throw his head back, bowing off the bed in a perfect arch as he descends down the slippery slope of orgasm, not in control of the white fire that must rage through every inch of his body. Gustav keeps his hands moving, and he watches in awe as Tom comes silently, eyes shut but every inch of emotion written into skin and muscle and bone.

Long moments pass before Tom relaxes into the mattress again, and Gustav keeps stroking, his hands now gentle on Tom’s cock, drawing out every last shudder and hitch of Tom’s breath, careful fingers milking him dry of come and tension until he’s limp, spent, nothing left to give. There’s no resistance to Georg’s hand running down his chest, no curiosity or arousal as the bassist strokes long fingers down his face, over closed eyes. Exhaustion is carved into every curve, every plane, and Gustav feels it begin to creep over himself as well. They’ve done so much tonight on top of a full day of press and concert; soon, he’ll crash and crash hard.

For a few minutes, he watches as Tom pants, his skin glistening from the exertion of the last few hours, the pink flush slowly receding as he begins the climbdown. Gustav carries on petting at his cock, soothing the raw flesh, and Tom moans softly, no desperation but resigned pleasure colouring the sound.

When Tom goes quiet, his murmuring and moaning turning to soft, sleepy sighs and coos Gustav knows it’s time to call it a night, and Georg nods to him.

He rolls off the bed, hearing Tom’s quiet whine at being jostled, but Georg shushes him and silence returns to the bedroom as Gustav pads into the ensuite. Inside, he finds a pre-packaged washcloth on the countertop, and he strips it out of the cardboard tube, twisting the tap on to run hot. Cold water isn’t nice after an orgasm like that, he knows, and only when the water is warm does he rinse out the blue material, wringing out the excess to leave it steaming and damp.

Inside the bedroom again, he finds Georg reaching up to the headboard, intending to undo Tom’s cuffs, but Gustav shakes his head, asking for just a minute or two more like this. Georg looks at him, eyes narrowing before he nods slowly. _Not too long_ , the stare says, and Gustav dips his head in acknowledgement.

When Georg holds out his hand, he passes over the washcloth, stands back to watch. He’s had his turn, taken Tom to the edge and made him walk along it, made him touch the darkness and the subspace that he knows that Tom needed.

Now it’s time for someone else to bring him back.


	9. Chapter 9

 

The cloth in his hand is hot, and Georg wonders how Tom’s sensitivity will respond to it – will it be too much? Or not enough?

Only one way to find out.

Slow, gentle swipes take the cloth first over Tom’s belly, taking away the mix of both Georg and Gustav’s come, leaving soft, clean skin in its wake. Tom flinches before he gets used to the sensation, sighs when Georg takes it away, refolds the cloth, starts again. It’s a curiously intimate moment now that the urgency of orgasm has gone, leaving in its wake a lazy, slow burning arousal that doesn’t require anything from Georg. He can take the time to actually appreciate the body beneath his hands in all Tom’s naked glory.

The first thing he notices is Tom’s skin – soft, so soft and a faint golden colour, healthy despite the amount of booze and cigarettes he’s forced upon it in the last few weeks, or hell, in his life. Georg smooths the damp cloth along Tom’s side, marvelling at how even now, after such an intense night and so close to sleep, the boy murmurs, rolling to the side, letting Georg get better access.

It’s incredible to think of the trust that Tom has in him to let him do that. They’ve all seen Tom jolt awake at the slightest touch from anyone who isn’t his twin, unable to sleep on long-haul flights because he’s forever being startled awake by someone even brushing past him. And now Tom is more than halfway into Morpheus’s embrace, comfortable enough to relax like this even naked and still chained with both Georg and Gustav.

He feels more than a degree of warm satisfaction at being honoured like that.

He waves at Gustav, hands over the cloth to be rewetted, and while Gustav vanishes back inside the bathroom, Georg takes some more time to look at Tom – focusing on his face, this time. Those long, delicate eyelashes, sweet lips that are thick and puffy from his constant abuse tonight while that lip ring flashes in the lamp light, his dreads looking soft in the yellow glow. So young, Georg thinks, so sweet looking. Tom shifts, sighs as he turns his head into his arm, and Georg feels a smile stretching the corner of his mouth at how cute Tom looks and imagining his subsequent reaction at being told that.

Bill goes for cute. Tom goes for… manly. Tough. Strong. He really doesn’t manage it at times like this.

“Here.” Gustav says, handing over the cloth, and Georg starts, not expecting the interruption to his musings.

Accepting the material again, he draws it in a careful line up Tom’s breastbone, removing the last traces of his own come from the skin, leaving only a few faint smears of Gustav’s behind. With a few swipes of the cloth, they too are gone, and Georg refolds the cloth, hiding the remnants of come on the inside as he reaches down, wraps the fresh side against Tom’s own cock, and Tom sighs again, moans and spreads his legs a little more. Georg raises an eyebrow.

Beneath his hand, Tom’s cock is starting to twitch, coming back around from the last orgasm, and he looks at Gustav. God, the kid’s got a good refractory period if he’s ready to go again even after all they’ve done to him tonight. Experimentally, Georg rubs his thumb along what little isn’t covered by the cloth, and Tom sighs, sleepily.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, and Gustav sends back his own raised eyebrow, “S’good…”

“Shush,”Georg hushes Tom, wanting to just hear what comes naturally, and Tom obediently subsides into quiet moans and heavy breathing, his legs coming apart again. But there’s no urgency, no frantic need to come, no tears this time. Tom seems perfectly relaxed, just enjoying what’s coming to him and Georg’s own cock stirs from the half-hard state it reduced to after he declined to wank during Tom’s first orgasm. He shrugs, reaches down to slide his hand against his cock outside his jeans. Might as well enjoy this.

Gustav stays propped against the bathroom door, but he’s got his own palm pressed against the not-so-little bulge in his shorts, and when Georg looks at him, he too raises a shoulder as if to say _what can you do?_

What can you do indeed, Georg thinks as he leaves the cloth over Tom’s dick, letting the heat from the material seep into the hard flesh beneath, hoping that it will help Tom to stay peaceful, keep him locked in that gentle calmness that is keeping those long limbs lax, making him drift along on the edge of sleep.

He runs a hand across Tom’s hip, thumbing the sharp jutting bone of his pelvis, and he’s not quite as turned on anymore actually because he’s more than a little worried at just how thin Tom is. The guy wears baggy clothes and it’s easy to miss in the fast-paced life they lead day-to-day but now that they’ve slowed down, that Tom is naked and unable to hide away, Georg sees how much these last few weeks have affected him, affected his body. His belly is practically concave, his ribs are pronounced, more than Georg’s ever were, even when he was growing like a weed. Even though both twins are skinny fuckers, they’ve always had some sort of meat on their bones, but now there’s nothing there really. His body is worn as thin as his mind from the constant late nights and lack of food and pressures piled on by David.

As his fingers stroke softly at Tom’s dick and the boy sighs and moans and spreads his legs wider, Georg can’t help but notice the prominent collar bones, those long bony fingers that are like twigs now, the ankles that are thin and weak-looking. He looks fragile in a way he has never seen Tom before, like a strong breeze will blow him over, and it’s such a stark contrast to the lean, whippet hard body Tom used to have that Georg’s breath catches in his throat.

This Tom is beautiful, in a strange, otherworldly sort of way, and Georg has no doubt that he could grow to love this body over time if he really tried, but it’s not the one he wants, not the one he remembers and when he traces his hand over Tom’s chest, he wants to feel muscle and flesh not the skin and bone he actually finds. If nothing else comes of tonight, he wants to make that happen, put Tom back to where he was healthwise.

He resolves to force-feed Tom breakfast tomorrow to make sure he gets at least one decent meal over the course of the day.

Tom doesn’t notice his observation though, doesn’t see Georg’s worried frown and concerned gaze. Instead he’s rocking his hips in a lazy fashion, seeking his orgasm via thrusting upwards into the hot cloth and Georg doesn’t reprimand him for it this time. It’s kind of strange to be so passive in someone else’s pleasure, watching Tom use his hand like this. Part of him suspects that most of this is ingrained, automatic responses to an evolutionary compulsion because Tom’s so close to sleep now, his moans quieter and his sighs longer but even so, there’s enough awareness to make Tom part his lips, whisper, “More…” Georg gives it to him willingly, removing the cloth to grasp the damp cock beneath and Tom shivers, drops his head back to show his throat. Georg likes the view.

“You like?” Gustav says from by door – only he’s closer now, not by the door at all but bracing one knee on the edge of the bed, one hand reaching out to touch Tom’s face.

“Mmm,” Tom sighs, turning into Gustav’s palm, “I like…”

Georg quietly ups the pace, grips tighter, presses two fingers behind Tom’s balls to find that magic place again but the flinch tells him it’s too much, too soon, and he steps it down again, slowing the pace down to match Gustav’s gently stroking thumb on Tom’s jaw, and Tom sighs, a contented happy sound that tells Georg he’s done the right thing. He could do this forever, he decides, and he’s probably not alone in that sentiment because Gustav brings his hand down, turns to sit next to Tom, propped up on the pillows and his gaze is warm as he reaches between the slats to give Tom something to hold on to.

Already, Gustav’s noted that that’s a thing for Tom.

Georg can feel the change in Tom’s body now, his hips rocking faster, his moans deepening. “Are you close?” Gustav says quietly.

“Mmmm…” Tom nods his head lazily, probably not even understanding what he’s actually been asked now, and Georg rolls his eyes as Gustav raises an eyebrow. “Yesss.” Tom hisses and Georg lets out a huff of surprise. Okay, so maybe Tom’s not quite as out of it as they thought he was. “So close.”

“Come then,” Georg urges, his hand speeding up just a fraction, reaching down for the cloth to catch more of the precome that’s appearing at the head. Tom gasps at the feeling of the rough material, and Gustav shushes him again, stroking at Tom’s fingers to comfort him as his face screws up a little, tension seeping into his lips. “Come for us, Tom,” Georg says, so softly that he wonders if Tom’s actually heard it or it’s just inside his head, but Tom must have heard, at least on some level because he throws back his head, bites his lip, and comes so gently, so slowly, Georg might have missed it if he wasn’t paying close attention.

This isn’t a dramatic thrust over the edge into orgasm like before, or even a slow burning fire. There’s nothing driving Tom onwards, just a gentle need to come pushing him into the motions of orgasm. He can see Tom’s body just relaxing. Letting go. There’s no gasping, no long drawn-out shout of pleasure, of joy – Tom just sighs, moans a little, and keeps on rocking his pelvis into Georg’s hand, encouraging the slow motions that Georg has going, milking Tom dry again into the cloth.

Georg rubs his free hand along Tom’s hip, and the boy moans at the extra sensation, the sound low and gentle as he gradually tips over the edge of pleasure, and Georg stares up at that beautiful face and wonders just where to draw the line on infatuation after seeing this different side of Tom’s pleasure.

It’s very different from before – it feels so… intimate. Close. Like it’s something very private that he should feel privileged to see.

It takes several long minutes for Tom to finish, his breathing slowly returning to normal, his hips stopping rocking into Georg’s hand only gradually, his legs coming back together. Tom’s hands loosen from their tight grip on Gustav’s fingers – the only sign of tension in his whole body – and Georg can tell this time he’s really heading toward sleep, sinking into the black of dreamless slumber. Tom’s face is slack now, his face turned into his arm, calm even breaths taking control of his chest. He’s gone, completely crashed out now.

Nothing left to give, nothing left to take.

He has given them so, so much already.

Georg withdraws the cloth, dragging it over Tom’s cock just to check what reaction he gets but there is none, the boy too far into the dreamless sleep of the totally weary to care now. He sighs, throws the cloth onto the floor as he uncrosses his legs, scooting towards the head of the bed.

“Time to let him loose, Gustav,” he says quietly, and the other man nods, accepting the practicality of the situation. Carefully they reach behind the headboard, unclip the chain from the right cuff to let them slip Tom’s hand free from the slats and Tom doesn’t object as Georg grabs his arm, stops him from lowering it too quickly. It’ll just hurt if they do that, could cause more pain in the morning and that’s not what they’re going for, so he keeps the arm straight, brings it down to the mattress in tiny increments, a few degrees at a time. It’s a slow process, one Gustav matches on Tom’s other side, one hand bracing the elbow, the other holding tight onto the cuffed wrist.

Tom murmurs, feeling the pain of moving stiff limbs even through sleep but Gustav shushes him, and Tom slips back down into the black without ever really coming out of it. Only when Tom’s arms are on the mattress, flat out, does Georg let go and lift up his own arms to reach for Tom’s shoulders. He has to make sure that there’s no stiffness, no lingering muscle tightness because otherwise it’ll just seize up overnight but he doesn’t find any. Tom’s so relaxed after that second orgasm that there’s no tension anywhere and Georg nods in approval.

Gustav shuffles backwards off the bed, and Georg frowns, hooks a finger through the D-ring loop on the cuff closest to him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Gustav shrugs. “Nope. They’re not tight enough to do any harm, are they?” True that.

He shuffles off the bed as well, nearly treading on the wet cloth before he kicks it out of the way with a disgusted expression.

Gross.

Gustav goes to the foot of the bed, collects the carefully folded duvet, waits for Georg to grab the other end before they drag it up over Tom’s nude body, hiding that lovely sight from view. Tom doesn’t even stir, even as he shivers from the cool cotton on his over-sensitised skin.

The room is quiet, the intensity of the previous hour and a half almost completely gone in the sudden stillness of the room, and Georg takes a moment to stretch and relax properly after everything that’s happened tonight. There’s so much to think about but at least they know what’s going on.

When he turns to Gustav, wondering what’s going to happen now, he stops dead. In Gustav’s hand is his phone and the missed call symbol is flashing – the number fifteen next to it. Fifteen missed fucking calls. Who the hell from?

“David,” Gustav says, and Georg sighs. Well, if nothing else that just killed the last of his hard-on.


	10. Chapter 10

 

  
  


To answer or not to answer, that is the question. Or at least, it’s the question that’s currently driving Gustav up the wall.

If he answers the phone, he’ll get an earful of a ranting David and he’s not sure that he can stop himself from ripping the man a new one despite the relatively late hour and Tom sleeping a few feet away.

If he doesn’t, David might come and invade their room anyway and Tom’ll flip his shit at being caught naked and red-assed in a bed that isn’t his own because there’s no way in hell he’d sleep through such a racket. And Gustav will still want to rip the man a new asshole, preferably right over his fucking lying mouth.

He looks at Georg, raises his eyebrow to ask what do you think? as he feels the phone start to vibrate again. Call number sixteen is flashing up on the screen, but he still doesn’t accept it, just lets it ring out. The voicemail will get it; tough shit if David doesn’t like talking to it.

“You don’t want to answer?” Georg says quietly, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. He looks tired but satisfaction is still seeping from his pores, the long hair slung back in a messy ponytail saying more about his state of mind than anything else. Gustav passes him the phone, lets him flip through the forty-three texts that David has sent. “Hold on.” Georg hands back the device, goes to his jacket where it’s been carelessly thrown over the back of the couch and reaches into the breast pocket, his face set in a frown that Gustav knows is part irritation, part confusion. He pads back over to Gustav with his own phone clutched in his hand, thumbing the passcode in and pulling up his call logs. “Well, would you look at that?” Gustav looks at the proffered phone – twenty missed calls, thirteen text messages, all from David.

The last one just reads, “Call me. Now.”

“Son of a bitch,” Gustav sighs, knowing they’ll at least have to let him know Tom is safe – but he’s this close to losing his cool and this is before he’s got the man on the phone. He’s just as likely to rage away at the guy as to placate him.

“Breathe, Gus,” Georg mutters, a smirk making its way onto his face and Gustav just glares. How the fuck can he relax at a time like this? “We’ll figure it out. There’s no way David’s going to get away with this anymore.” Georg’s phone buzzes again – “Call twenty-one,” he says, showing the screen to Gustav again and that’s really not fucking helping when Gustav is stressing out like this.

“So what do we do?” he snaps, and Tom sighs on the bed, rolling over to his side with a sleepy murmur. “Shit.”

“Come sit down,” Georg gestures to the seating area, “And let’s keep this calm, shall we?”

“Oh, fuck you, Hagen.”

“Picked that one up from the twins, did you?” Georg sounds ridiculously mellow for a time like this, and Gustav stalks over to the sofa feeling mildly stupid at the intensity of his feelings but that’s always been his way. Even the mere thought of David getting to continue his manipulation of Tom is enough to make his hands start to bunch into fists, preparing for a fight with someone who’s not even in the room. “Gus. Hey, Gustav?” Georg reaches over, touches his hands, and Gustav looks down – they are shaking. Quite a lot actually.

“God…” It really says a lot when he doesn’t even notice he’s gotten that worked up. He stares down at Georg’s hand, just covering his own, the warmth and calluses on that familiar palm grounding him again. Tom’s not the only one who can go off into the deep end.

“We’ll figure this out. There’s no fucking way David or the execs are going to continue this. I won’t let them. You won’t let them. Bill is certainly not going to let them carry on – he’ll go apeshit when Tom tells him.”

“Tom?” Well, that’s a surprise. And a distraction, one he jumps on straight away. “You want to Tom to tell Bill about this?”

“You think I’m going to tell him that our manager, the one who’s been there for us for four years, who’s pushed, pulled, encouraged and plain all out begged for every interview, photo shoot and magazine spread we ever did when we were starting out is the one who’s been driving a wedge between Bill and Tom? That David, dear darling David who has been such a part of the family he’s had fucking Christmas dinner at their house, is the one who’s been forcing Tom into unwanted sexual relations night after night, fucking with Bill’s band, fucking with everything we’ve ever wanted as a group? Yeah, fuck no. I like my head where it is, thanks,” Georg shrugs. “Besides, Tom and Bill have to patch it up somehow and I think coming from Tom it’ll mean more, you know?”

“Bill’ll be mad.” But it’s true – the twins do have to come back around at some point, and they’re hardly likely to manage it on their own the way things are. If they give Tom that final shove in the right direction and play their cards right, they’ll just have to stand back and watch the resulting fireworks that almost certainly will result from Tom’s revelation. Bill is fucking terrifying when he’s pissed, and he’ll be way more than pissed from this. Nobody, but nobody, harms his precious twin.

“But he’ll get over it. Very quickly too, once he realises that David’s still in the building,” Georg chuckles and Gustav nods, getting the joke but already thinking of what they need to do now.

“You got ideas?” Georg asks, withdrawing his hand from where it’s been absently resting on Gustav’s. The drummer kind of misses the warmth already, but it’s time to get rational. He needs to focus on the problem at hand instead of fretting about what is and what isn’t. Or Georg’s admittedly nice hands. No. Focus. What to do about David?

Gustav leans back in the chair, crosses his legs, getting settled in for the long haul because they have to sort out something tonight. Georg copies him on the couch, and there’s a few minute silence as Gustav contemplates. He twiddles his phone in his hands, spinning it around and around as he methodically sorts through a list of possible scenarios, considering their merits and disadvantages before discarding or putting them aside for later.

He has three possible options.

They could let David in here, let rip at him with all the information that they have. But although it’s the most immediate solution, the disadvantages are huge and the positives minimal. They’re tired, underprepared and David’s probably got any number of rational explanations to hand that they won’t be able to refute without careful consideration. With Tom in the same room in the condition he is right now, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. No, that’s not a good plan. Straight in the discard pile it goes.

They could do the same in the corridor or in David’s room, but again the same negatives apply – not to mention the possibility of being overheard by other guests. No. Not good.

Or they could wait until morning and let Bill know what’s going on. Once they’ve weathered the front man’s anger and blistering lecture on hiding secrets from him – although Tom will probably be the main recipient of that – they can make a plan. They can put together something that will let them systematically destroy every lie David’s got prepared, pull apart every falsehood the executives throw at them, and ruin every attempt to pull the wool over their eyes by the editor of Bild who has been following them everywhere for the last two weeks.

Bill will never let David get away with this, will hunt him down to the ends of the earth if he has to because of what the man has done to Tom. It’s only fair to let him into the plan to bring down this whole sordid conspiracy group, even if Tom won’t like telling his twin why he’s been acting the way he has.

When he outlines the third solution to Georg, he’s pleased to see the bassist nod. “I like it,” he says thoughtfully. “We need to be well-armed, David’s always got back-up plans and get-out clauses. we need to make sure that we have enough evidence to go against him or he’ll just be able to weasel out it. And the execs too. They’re slippery bastards, too fucking clever for their own good.”

“Mmm,” Gustav agrees. “I don’t like them.”

“Well, that’s hardly a secret, Gustav.” Georg grins, a razor-sharp one that disappears almost as soon as it came. “But what do we do about this?” he indicates the phone in his hand and right on cue, it starts to vibrate again, sounding like nothing more than an angry swarm of bees.

“We need to put him off – but not tip him off,” Gustav says, his mind already churning up thoughts of how to do that. “We need him to stay away but he can’t know that we know, if you get what I mean?”

“Yeah. If he catches on that we’re on to him, he’ll have a chance to dig in.”

“Or run.” With the execs in on the whole thing, they have no idea how deep this goes, how far the corruption is when it comes to pushing the band into something they don’t want to do. The last thing they need to do is step in a trap themselves, shoot themselves in the foot before they’re fully ready to take on the big guns. Trying to get Tom out of his current situation will be hard enough. Digging themselves out of a second conspiracy is not something they need to add to that.

“You want to answer, or shall I?”

“I will. But what to say,” Gustav rubs his chin, thinking. “Maybe… something about Tom needing to sleep and we took care of it?”

“Took care of it? Jesus, Gustav, make it sound like a mob hit, why don’t you?” Georg laughs out loud and Tom huffs from the bed. “No, no, we can’t say that. You’ve been watching far too many mafia films.”

“They’re good, so shut the fuck up.” There’s no fire to Gustav’s words and Georg grins even more. “But what do we say then?”

“Maybe that we saw that Tom needed a break, and Saki gave us the okay to take him up?”

“But he’ll know that Tom isn’t in his room by now. And he must know Tom’s here because he’s sending us the messages. Not to Tom’s phone.” That’s true. The phone on the dresser that Gustav removed from Tom’s jeans hasn’t rung once. All night. “Not to mention, do we really need to drop Saki in it? Especially when he’s probably already told David we’re the ones who kidnapped Tom from the lobby?”

“Point taken.” Gustav absently stretches out his leg, rolling his ankle as he ponders. “Alright. Let’s go with the truth.”

“The truth?” Georg rears back, looking surprised. “That we thought Tom needed some good ol’ fashioned corporal punishment so we upended him over the coffee table, spanked him raw and then proceeded to have almost-but-not-quite-sex with him for over an hour afterwards before letting him sleep in cuffs and nothing else in our bed? You want to tell David that?” Gustav kicks him.

“No, you bastard. That we saw that Tom didn’t want to go out, that we decided to take matters into our own hands because something’s obviously wrong, but Tom refused to talk and instead, fell asleep in our bed. We’ll take the couches, obviously to protect his innocence and once he’s got a good night’s sleep, he’ll be up and around in time for breakfast.”

“Okay.” Georg stares at him. “You’re a crazy good liar, you know that?”

“I do try,” Gustav says, not very modestly. “But it’s better than the real truth, isn’t it?”

“Oh. Well. A bit, yeah, if it comes to talking about it to other people.” A lazy smile makes its way onto Georg’s face. “But you were joking about sleeping on the couch, right?”

“Oh fuck, yeah.” Gustav’s own grin starts to slip through his poker face. “I am not sleeping on the couch when I have that in my bed.” He throws a thumb up over his shoulder, indicating the naked sleeping beauty that is currently gracing the king-sized piece of furniture. “Besides, we gotta make sure he don’t slip out in the morning before we get a chance to talk to him.”

“Oh yeah.” That’s a real possibility – Bill might be as clumsy as fuck, but Tom can be ninja-stealthy when he wants to be.

“Alright then. So I’ll tell David that and also that he can fuck off until morning and if he turns up at our door...?”

“Ah. Now, that, I don’t know,” Georg leans back, starts fiddling with his own phone. “Tell him to fuck the hell off?”

“Works as well as anything else I can think of…” Gustav’s feeling the effects of today already, and he has to stifle a yawn before he can carry on. “Let’s go and tell David he’s a fucking dick in not so ugly terms and then get to bed?”

Georg just nods.

Gustav pulls up his contacts, flicks to David’s number, and takes a deep breath. He presses the green button, and the sound of ringing is loud in the still room.

“Where the fuck is Tom?”

“Hello, David.”

\---

“Where the fuck is Tom?” David’s voice is harsh, even through the tinny speaker, and Georg sees Gustav’s arm flex as he clenches the phone tight. Not good. He’s squaring up for a fight even before they’ve begun, and Georg puts his hand on Gustav’s shoulder to calm him. They need to pick their battles carefully, choosing only the conflicts they are sure to win and this is not one of them.

“Hello, David,” Gustav’s voice betrays none of the inner turmoil that is present in his eyes. Calm and even toned, he sounds perfectly normal for this time of night. There is no hint of what has happened in this room in his tone, no sex gravelly voice, no aggressive edge to his words.

“Don’t you fucking hello, David, me!” the reply is snappy and harsh. “Where the fuck is Tom?”

“Asleep.”

“Wha- Where?” Gustav’s answer has wrong footed; the man probably was expecting a lie or some hasty fudging of the truth – the short, honest answer has confused him.

“Here.”

“Where is here, Gustav, and don’t you fucking dare try to pull a fast one on me-” They’ve done it before, when they’ve all spent the night in some groupie’s hotel room even if it’s comparatively rare for Tom to do so – and he’s never stayed this long before. David’s probably thinking that right now but he’s going to get a shock….

“In my room.” Short and sweet. Gustav’s always been brusque on the phone, and Georg knows that the drummer is using that to his advantage now. Gustav is offering no more than is being asked of him – he’s not hiding anything, but he’s not giving it either. If David wants answers, he’s going to have to work for them.

“I thought you wanted a quiet night.” Georg’s eyebrows shoot right up at that – nobody said anything about that, so David’s trying to feel out what the situation is. A quiet night is code for Georg and Gustav sleeping together. He’s obviously wondering if Georg is there but Gustav’s wise to that move and counters quickly.

“Plans change.” Gustav leans over, tilts the phone and suddenly Georg hears David’s voice much more clearly. Gustav obviously saw him straining to listen in.

“Oh.” A smirk crosses Georg’s face because David is clearly floundering for some sort of way to discuss this without dropping himself in some shit. It would be funny if it wasn’t such a serious matter. “Where is he sleeping?”

“In my room.”

“Where in your room?” David’s huff of frustration is loud and crackly through the phone. “Don’t get clever with me, Gust —”

“The bed.”

“Won’t you need to sleep on it?” Captain Obvious strikes again.

“There are couches. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“No, no. You two need your sleep – there’s such a lot to do tomorrow —” He’s apparently decided that Georg is there, and David’s voice is suddenly much louder, more confident, but it’s pitchy, and Georg knows right away he’s coming up with some lie, or truth fudging of his own. “I’ll just come up, take Tom to his room, make sure you get a good night’s sleep. Can’t have any more mistakes —”

“No. We can’t.” Gustav’s tense again because now he has to head David off at the pass. “Tom is asleep, David. You know if you wake him up now, he’ll not sleep again for the rest of the night.”

“Bu —” ] Gustav’s made a good point; once the twins are awake, no matter how few hours have passed, they’re up. They can’t - or won’t, as the case may be - return to sleep until the next night and if they have press tomorrow, Tom will be useless. “No, it’s fine. If I keep him quiet, he’ll just go straight back off again…”

“No, he won’t.” With more steel this time, Gustav snaps back. “He’ll be wide awake, and then he’ll bitch and moan, and then he’ll stumble through the press and then he’ll have to sleep through rehearsals and frankly, David, I’d like to get in a practise session sometime soon so we don’t fuck up any more. I’m willing to sacrifice a night on the sofa to actually have Tom around for a jam session. Very willing.” Behind them on the bed, Tom sighs, murmurs a little more as he digs his head further into the pillow. Georg nudges Gustav, puts a finger to his lips. Quiet, he means and the other man nods. That was getting very loud, and as he just said, they don’t need the boy awake yet.

“But…” Gustav’s got David by the balls because it’s true that Tom hasn’t been to any jamming sessions, or to rehearsals recently, choosing to sleep instead of practise with his instrument and the rest of the band even if it’s to their detriment. If the boy misses any more time with the rest of the band, there’s likely to be more fuck-ups live during concerts and not even David can protect them from the fallout from that.

“We’ll get some more duvets sent up from room service. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” His voice is firm, brooking no objections and Georg finds himself responding to the Dom in that tone and he has to shift uncomfortably in place. Even though he’s not a sub, the intensity of authority in his lover’s voice has always been arousing.

“But that’s very expensive! We have to keep costs down on this tour – you know that, boys, and when there’s a perfectly good bed for Tom fifty feet away, I don’t know that I can justify it –“

“I’ll put it on my tab, if it bothers you that much, David.” Gustav rolls his eyes at Georg who has to press his lips together to prevent himself from chuckling. David is clearly floundering for an excuse, desperate to separate Tom from them, worried about what he’ll tell them.

Too late for that, David.

Suddenly, Georg’s phone buzzes in his hand and he fumbles to silence it. It’s Saki texting him and that’s weird, because Saki never texts if he can call. Probably because the man can’t text to save his life. He flicks his thumb over the screen, unlocks it, opens the new message. David on his way to phone you - Todl him you took Tom upstairs b/c hre wasnt feeling well. Let me knows whats going on? Georg grabs for Gustav’s arm, holds the phone in front of his face. Saki’s obviously trying to cover for them, and Georg is very grateful to the guy.

Turns out that was the right move because… “Why is he sleeping in your room?” David asks, petulantly. Obviously frustrated that Gustav’s refuting him with logic and not just teenage rebelliousness, he’s got no way into the room without forcing his way through the door and that’s not going to go down well with anyone, not least Tom.

“Because he’s not feeling well. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.” And ooh, feel the burn. Gustav’s tone is polite but ice-cold and David’s probably feeling more than a little bit chilled wherever he is because Gustav’s dead on the money. Nobody’s been taking care of Tom for a long time, least of all David, and while it doesn’t call him out on anything, it’s a passive-aggressive snipe right at their manager. “It’s much easier to do it in here than in Tom’s room.”

“He said he was going out tonight.” Liar, Georg thinks, and Gustav snorts. Shit. “What was that?”

“I sneezed,” Gustav smoothly covers up his gaffe, redirects David back to his original question. “He was. But he wasn’t feeling well like I said, and well… a night in is good every once in awhile.”

“…Yeah.” Ooh, David read that one loud and clear. “I want him back in his room by eight though!”

“Why?”

“Because….because I need to talk to him!” David’s huffy, hasty reply sounds fake even to Georg, and he and Gustav share a look. “We have some very important information to go over and I wanted to do it tonight.” Gustav actually draws the phone away from his ear, stares at it in surprise. But David’s still talking. “He begged me for a few hours out and I only said yes if we could look over this new information, but now he’s fucked off to sleep like that and left me high and fucking dry. God, why do I work with him?” David’s probably trying to get them to sympathise with him, attempting to invoke the frustration that they have all expressed over Tom’s recklessness but with their new insights into that from tonight, it’s really not going to work.

“Because he’s a great musician and one quarter of this band. Because he’s a good kid who just lost his way a little. Since he is my friend and I care enough about him to take care of him when he’s sick,” Gustav’s tone is no longer just cool, it’s fucking ice cold. “I’ll be sure to let Tom know when he wakes up that you’re looking to talk to him.”

“I want him up by eight —”

“He will be up when he gets up.” Bam. Dom, right there, no nonsense, straight-backed authority in every syllable of that sentence. Georg’s cock twitches again and this time Gustav notices, looking at him with wry amusement. Georg shrugs. He can’t help it if it turns him on and he’s not exactly ashamed of it. He strokes one finger over his crotch absently, and Gustav’s lips start fighting to stop breaking into a smile. He turns his head to face the wall, waving Georg away with his other hand even as he speaks, “You will not come charging in here at eight in the morning.”

“Wh —”

“Am I clear, David?”

“What? I am your manager —”

“Yes. And I need sleep. You know how I am without my ten hours...” Although Gustav is the first one up in the mornings, it’s on his own terms. He will systematically dismember anyone who disturbs his slumber before he is ready to rise. Georg learnt the lesson the hard way.

“Whatever. I want to see him the minute he gets up.” And look at that, the Dom thing works – David backs down even if he tries to save face. Gustav could pursue it, try to push it but he leans back, nudges his feet against Georg’s, obviously feeling gracious enough to let the whole thing go.

“I’ll be sure to pass along the message.” Gustav makes a gesture, one that says, yeah, you lost that one you fucking bastard, and Georg has to cover his mouth to stop another chuckle from coming out. “Is there anything else?”

“…No.” David’s pissy but he’s out of options. Tom’s asleep, and he can’t wake him up without risking the wrath of Gustav, fans, Tom and the press for the crappy day that will surely follow, and Gustav has logically argued the man into a corner. “Just let me know next time before you kidnap Tom from the lobby.”

“I’m sure Saki told you where Tom was.” Gustav returns the dig with a calm statement, and David’s huff is audible again. “Good night, David.”

The man hangs up without a word.

“Bastard.” Gustav’s voice drops from polite cool to fire-heated pissiness in less time than it takes for Georg’s brain to catch up with the fact that he’s now rock hard and feeling like he wants another round or three of great sex.

“He is a cunt,” Georg agrees. David was blatantly fumbling for excuses, trying force his way inside with bad logic and words and lies. It’s actually kind of worrying, because the man is usually snake-oil smooth, fast talking and in control – the man on the other end of the phone had not been any of that. Georg doesn’t know how deep this runs, how much of the management is rotten to the core, but the phone call has made him think it’s more than they initially thought.

“Mmmm, I know,” Gustav says when Georg shares his thoughts. “That was not normal David behaviour.”

“Great. More shit to worry about.”

“Yeah. It seems to be never-fucking-ending,” Gustav sighs. “But whatever. It’s....” He looks at his phone to check the time and groans aloud. “Midnight. God fuck it, I’m tired.”

“Me too.” After such a full on week, and the whole thing this evening, Georg is feeling more than just tired. It feels like he could just face-plant into the bed, and screw getting undressed. But first… “You wanna?” he says, and he’s leaning back in his chair, sprawling his legs wide, laying a hand over his more than half-hard dick. Gustav’s usually up for it so…

“No. Put your cock away, you insatiable dick, and go to bed.”

“I’ll make it worth your while…” Georg is good at that, and Gustav knows it. A little more pressure, some more tempting and there’ll be a nice blowjob to finish off the night with.

“Don’t give a shit. Go to bed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Gustav gets up, wandering over towards the bed, and Georg is left stranded with a half-hard dick and nobody to help him take care of it. He drops his hand away, frowns.

“God, you’re really fucking bitchy tonight.”

“Yeah, and you’re horny. Guess we’re both out of luck.” Gustav flashes him a smile and Georg can’t help the one that breaks over his own face. Damnit, he was going for pissed off. “Seriously, Georg. We’re never less than what… half an hour? That plus the shower… I do need at least eight hours sleep. You know what I’m like without it.”

“Mmm,” Georg grumbles but it’s true. Gustav is a raging bear without enough sleep, and while it would be fun to set him amongst the execs and watch them run like frightened children, that’s really not conducive to ending this debacle without bloodshed or legal chaos. “Fine. Me and my lonely cock will go to bed unsatisfied.”

“Unsatisfied?” Gustav squawks quietly but Tom mumbles, sliding his legs around under the duvet to find a cool patch. There’s silence until he settles again, and then Gustav carries on. “Unsatisfied, Georg? You’re fucking dumb if you think you’re un-fucking-satisfied. Two today, wasn’t it?”

“Three.” Three blissful orgasms in less than fifteen hours – it’s been a good day for him on the sex front. One this morning in the bathroom of the radio station with Gustav, one in the shower before this whole evening started and then once with Tom’s beautiful brown eyes on him. He’s hard pushed to choose the best one – whether it’s Gustav’s mouth or Tom’s eyes that win as the sexiest sight of the night.

“Exactly – your cock is just oversexed.” And there’s Gustav’s lovely sarcasm bringing him back down to earth, and he has to hit back with something awesome.

“I prefer to think of it as highly charged.”

“Yeah, well, take your highly charged cock and get the fuck into bed,” Gustav snaps, and Georg sees that the game is wearing thin for the other man. There’s too much to do tomorrow to really waste more time having a blowjob in the bathroom, and besides three is good for anyone, isn’t it?

“Coming, honey,” he says, just to have the last word, reaching down to his fly to unzip it. He and Gustav don’t always have the nicest sounding relationship; there’s a lot of verbal sparring and insults chucked back and forth but it’s… normal for them, it’s how they work. Neither of them is very overt in their love for each other – no constant hugs or kisses, no sappy texts or phone calls – but they’re strong. Consistent. Georg knows that when Gustav makes him coffee in the morning that’s his way of saying that he loves him.

And when Georg brought Gustav brand new sticks – beautiful ones that were hand carved and painted and _never_ intended to go anywhere near a drum kit (they’d had one hell of a lot of fun with them that night in Berlin) – that was his way of saying that he loved the drummer right back.

Now though, it kind of feels like an old married couple thing because Gustav’s giving him an expression that he knows is disapproval and wry amusement, and Georg wonders just where all the teenage recklessness for sex went in their lives. When did they start worrying about going to bed on time and meetings and managers and shit?

“You’re not sleeping naked, are you?” Gustav says from where he’s pulling on fresh boxers, folding away his old clothes from today. “Really?”

“I will start as I mean to go on,” Georg says primly because fuck society’s expectation of clothes, he sleeps naked and is damn well going to carry on that way. Besides, Tom’s not exactly clothed, is he now?

“No, but he didn’t exactly have much choice about it, did he?” Gustav fires back and Georg shrugs. He likes the freedom of it, likes to feel unrestrained when he sleeps and he ain’t going to stop now. He kicks off the trousers, leaves them abandoned somewhere near the dresser and Gustav tutts at him. Eh, he’ll get them in the morning. Tonight is all the about the sleep now, not housekeeping.

Gustav sighs, grabs a corner of the duvet and Georg goes to join him, folding the material back until Tom lies exposed to the waist. He whimpers, goose bumps forming over his skin as the room’s cool air rushes over him. Georg leans closer, sees those lovely nipples tightening in the cool of the air, returning to little hardened nubs of flesh, and it’s so fucking tempting that he can’t resist, reaches over, rubs his thumb over the left one and Tom sighs, his lip ring being chewed even in sleep and actually seems to settle.

Georg raises an eyebrow. No way…

He lifts the duvet, checks on Tom’s dick, but it’s flaccid, just lying on his thigh, no sign of arousal. It’s not conventional at all, and Georg is kind of amused by it because _hello_ , Tom’s the last person he expected to have a tit thing going for himself but at least they know what to do if Tom’s restless at night; just rub his chest – a little voice in the back of his head shouts _tits, rub his tits_ – and he goes back down into sleep just like that. He’s never been with a man with quite such a nipple thing going, but he thinks he might get used to it. He might actually have some clamps somewhere…. His mind turns to the black flight case on the bus and he wonders what he’s got in there, surely there’s something he can use…

“Georg, stop thinking about toys,” Gustav says and it’s so fucking true that Georg has to fight not to start. He stares wide-eyed at Gustav because how the fuck did he know that was what he was thinking about?! “You get that look on your face. And you start to dribble like a St Bernard,” Gustav says, smirking. “And while it would be nice to think about it now, save it for in the morning.”

“Ah.” Well, damn the man for knowing him so well. That’s just spoiled his fun for the moment, and he is feeling really quite tired now, so Georg slides into the bed, pulling the duvet up, and the mattress shifts again when Gustav climbs in on the other side, pulling up his side of the covers as well.

Tom just sighs again, his cuffs rasping over the sheets as he slides down the bed, and Georg looks at Gustav over the boy’s shoulder. Tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a day, and they don’t have a fucking clue what’s going to happen. They don’t even know what will happen with Tom and their relationships – the spanking was one thing, they could rationalise that as punishment, but the orgasms, the exhibitionism, the control they forced over the boy? That’s going to be hard to explain.

“Stop thinking about it, Georg,” Gustav says, stretching out an arm to rest on Georg’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Yeah. In the morning.”

Morning never seemed so far away.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Scroll down, left click, then right click because he can never remember which one brings up the shitty little menu, delete. Scroll down, right click, save… Scroll down, right click, kill the fucking bastard who invented spam, delete…

Georg officially hates sorting his fucking emails. The screen is bright, the mouse clicks loud, the whirring of the laptop fans are irritating to his ears and he just wishes he could go back to sleep and ignore the world. But he can’t because Gustav kicked him awake this morning before he left for lands unknown – to go to speak to Bill and David no doubt about the meeting they need to have, actually – and that means that Georg can’t go back to sleep.

Still. The naked body in the bed beside him was a rather nice thing to wake up to. As was the morning wood that Gustav so obligingly took care of for him this morning in the shower before he returned the favour, and the boy in the bed never even stirred, not even when Gustav shouted out loud enough to ring around the tiled bathroom.

He checks the clock – eight fifty in the morning. Not too bad then – eight hours kip on a press day is a fucking lie-in. It’s just him being bitchy, and he takes another sip of coffee to counteract the pissiness. He likes to leave that sort of thing to the twins, neither of whom tolerate early mornings well.

Beside him, Tom shifts, moans, brings an arm up to clutch at the pillows. Shit, time for Tom to join the party then. Screw the emails, Georg decides, snapping the laptop lid shut and moving it off the bed again; he’s got better things to worry about. He drains the last of the coffee, puts the mug from room service on the bedside table, and turns to face Tom.

The boy is curled up tight under the covers, reverting back to the foetal position that spoke so much about his true self, and Georg can’t resist reaching out a hand, brushing a finger over those closed eyes, feeling Tom’s lashes flutter against his skin. Tom groans softly, licks his lips, and those brown eyes are slowly opened, but he’s still not with it, not functioning because he doesn’t really focus on Georg even though he’s right fucking there. He just sighs, closes his eyes again.

“Hey.” That was obviously the wrong thing to say because Georg doesn’t get any further than that before Tom jolts, starting upright- and he’s scrambling back over the bed so fast he’s in danger of falling over the side. He’s wide-eyed, looks like he’s just been electrified, and Georg has to reach out, grab his arm to stop him going off the edge of the bed, stop him from hurting himself. “Tom!” he admonishes and the boy rears back.

“What the fuck, Georg?!” he says, but instead of sounding sort of manly and gruff, he sort of sounds a bit confused and a lot afraid, and Georg realises it’s up to him to put Tom back at ease. It can’t be easy to go from sleep to wide awake in less time than it takes Bill to eat a gummy worm.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” he soothes, and Tom just stares him like he’s speaking fucking Greek or something. “Come back to the middle.”

“What?”

Georg pats the middle of the bed with his free hand, realising that he has to keep this nice and simple for Tom right now because the boy really isn’t up to complex thought processes at the moment. He pulls gently and Tom allows himself to be slid over to the centre of the bed, eyeing Georg warily all the while. He looks like he expects him to grow horns or burst into flames or … just anything except be normal.

“There, much better,” Georg says and Tom snorts in disbelief. “Alright, slightly better?” he amends and Tom looks away, obviously embarrassed. Then he reaches a hand down under the quilt and he gets the weirdest expression on his face - he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“…I’m naked.” He sounds slightly disbelieving and then… _Oh_ , fuck this is too much. Georg bursts into laughter as Tom lifts up the duvet just to check to see that yep, the nudity extends all the way down, and he slaps the cover back down, a blush blossoming on his cheeks faster than his hands can cover it. “Oh. My. God. I’m naked in someone else’s bed.”

Georg roars even harder, clapping his hands together because that’s so fucking obvious and yet Tom can’t seem to believe it and he has to hold onto his ribs because they hurt so much. “Gustav’s bed, actually,” Georg stifles his laughter long enough to actually finish a sentence.

“Gus- oh, fuck he’s going to kill me!” Tom moans hysterically, his hands covering his eyes. Gustav does hate having his bed invaded – he’s made a point of it over the years of sharing a tour bus together to keep his space his own and woe betide anyone who tries to use his bunk as a dumping ground or as a free place for a lie down.

“Fairly certain he won’t....”

“What – I’m naked in Gustav’s bed, Georg, you fucking prick. He’s going to murder me! He hates people in his bed!”

“Not if he put you there himself.” And oh, look, there’s the lovely look of remembering the night before… Tom’s eyes go wide, that pretty pink blush intensifies and Georg would bet his best guitar that Tom’s dick has just joined the party. Hands over his mouth, Tom looks like he’s about to be sick but there’s a definite hint of enjoyment there, of blushing pleasure and if Georg looks closely, he’s sure he can see a bulge where Tom’s cock should be, meaning he’s definitely not all horrified by the memory. “Remember it?”

“Oh, God,” Tom moans into his hands, and Georg can’t help laughing, kicking his legs up under the duvet as he rolls around clutching his sides again, because holy fuck Tom looks completely mortified and it’s so rare to see him do that that he has to keep this in his memory forever. “Oh – I – Oh, fuck….”

“Not last night, Tom,” Georg adds, and Tom parts his fingers to stare at him with one wide brown eye. “We didn’t do that much.”

“But you... and then you… and this...” Tom makes vague gestures, trying to not say what he means, and Georg throws back his head and laughs some more because Tom can’t even say the fucking words even though he’s always been so confident about sex before. He really wants to test it out, see how far Tom will go to avoid saying _handjob_ , but that’s a bit too cruel for this time of the morning.

“Yes, we did make you come, and we came as well,” he shrugs.

“But you…” Tom makes vague hitting motions, obviously too embarrassed to actually say the word _spanking_ and that’s so fucking cute even though Tom would never admit to being cute at all.

The blush starts to creep down his neck, and Georg can’t help but reach out, reaching for one of those pretty perky nipples because they’re so fucking tempting all out in the open. He manages to get close enough while Tom is distracted by his whirling mind and the boy just looks at him through his fingers until Georg actually tweaks the little nub between finger and thumb. Then Tom squeaks, batting his hand away and shuffling backwards on the bed, bristling like an angry cat.

“Georg!” he hisses and he sounds so affronted, so like Bill when someone calls him fat, one long-fingered hand covering the abused nipple but Georg saw that the boy’s cock twitched just a little – the joys of morning wood, he knows them well – and he has to laugh some more because Tom just looks so out of his depth.

“Alright, alright.” He holds up his hands in the universal sign for truce. Tom huffs, pulling the duvet up around his neck in a pre-emptive defence that comes too late and Georg grins. “Seriously though, Gustav ain’t gonna kick you out. He was fine sleeping with you here, and he’ll be fine with you now.”

“…He slept in this bed?” Wow. He didn’t know Tom’s voice could go that high.

“Where else was he supposed to sleep?” Georg shrugs.

“The fucking couch?”

“After all that we did to you? Bed’s more comfy, anyway.” Georg rolls his eyes. “You didn’t seem to object at the time, at least, to the two of us getting in.”

“I … but… what – shut up!” Tom hisses and he’s never seen the boy so weirded out, so unable to deal with such a simple thing like sharing a bed — they’re all friends, right? “Wait… You slept in here too?”

“Yes, Tom. I did. That’s what the two of us meant.” Tom rolls his eyes and even that little bit of normality is good to see again. But then his face falls, and he looks very confused and slightly nervous.

“But… don’t… don’t you normally sleep…”

“Au naturel? Naked? In the buff?” Instead of answering the question with his words Georg decides to use the show method instead and he reaches down, flips off the duvet. He’s all there, and all hanging loose, just how he likes it, cock resting gently on his thigh, his skin nice and clean from the shower earlier. Tom doesn’t seem to approve though.

“Oh FUCK OFF, HAGEN!” Tom’s face turns crimson, and he draws the duvet up over his head, and Georg just fucking loses it. This blushing virgin act really suits Tom in a strange way, and he’s so fucking weird about the whole thing that it just makes it all better for Georg.

He’s still rolling around the bed and Tom keeps going to hit him even though he can’t see him to keep him away from his hideout, but every time he does, he realises that Georg is still naked and he withdraws his hand with a squeak only to repeat the process the next time Georg rolls a little too close. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself, sounding all confused and slightly aggravated through the fluffy material. Actually, he’s acting like nothing more than a puffball of a cat, all lost dignity and huffy frustration, and Georg completely misses the door opening as he carries on laughing into the pillows.

“Well, isn’t that a nice sight to see?” Gustav clicks the door shut, throwing the keycard onto the dresser top. “Morning, Georg.”

“And a very lovely morning it is too!” Georg says, cheerily, still sniggering, not bothering to hide his naked body away under the duvet. Why should he? Tom’s seen it all last night, even if he won’t admit to it, and Gustav’s been looking on his body most nights for the last year now. He leans back into the pillows, grins at Gustav who unloads his pockets of tea bags stolen from the buffet and a handful of paper that he waves meaningfully at Georg.

“Where’s Tom?” Gustav asks, but he’s already pointing at the lump on the bed that’s a vaguely Tom-sized huddle of duvet. Georg nods. “Good morning, Tom.”

“…I hate you both.” Tom’s voice is muffled and he sounds so fucking put out that Georg nearly loses it all over again.

“Whatever. I need you to come out from under there now, Tom,” Gustav says, going over to the coffeepot on the counter top. “Come on, time to surface. We have work to do.”

“Never coming out of here again.” He sounds like he’s five again.

“Might be difficult to perform concerts from a bed, ”Georg offers and there’s a brief moment of silence before a hand works its way free from the lump and flicks a determined middle finger in his direction before retreating back inside. “Mature, Tom.”

“Fuck you, you nudist.”

“Now, Tom.” Gustav adds an edge of authority to his voice, but Tom just shakes his head and Georg sighs. Back to being difficult, is he? Well, he’ll soon learn.

Gustav doesn’t bother with talking anymore – nobody says no to Gustav when he’s in Dom mode and he marches over, grabs a fistful of duvet and pulls. There’s a flurry of insults from the huddle, and Gustav has to use both hands to extract the person inside the bundle and Tom fights him all the way. “Goddamnit, Tom!” Gustav barks and there’s a moment of silence.

“Fine.” A muffled yet still sulky reply comes from the disturbed duvet and Tom reappears, naked and flushed, and he squawks when Gustav rips the duvet all the way down, leaving it tucked around Tom’s waist. “Leave it there,” Gustav warns, and Tom huffs, hand curling over the edge of the material as if to defy him anyway but one long hard stare from Gustav and he complies. “Good morning, Tom,” Gustav says again.

“I still hate you both.”

“Alright. Whatever. We have work to do.” Gustav waves off the comment and Tom pouts as he sits back against the pillows, notably avoiding looking in Georg’s direction. “And can you put some fucking jeans on, Listing?”

“Why?” He’s hot, and they’re in a private room – why does he have to get dressed?

“Because serious talks require some form of clothing,” Gustav snaps. “And because Tom can’t stop looking like his face will explode when he has to pay attention to you.”

“Fine…” Just for today then. He rolls off the bed and hears another strangled sound from behind him. “Like what you see, Tom?”

“I… Just… Fuck off!”

“You keep saying that. I don’t think you mean it.” Georg cackles as Tom huffs again and even Gustav stifles a chuckle as Georg deliberately flexes his backside, provoking Tom more. “I can do that all day long, you know.”

“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that, Hagen?”

“Talk dirty some more to me, Tom. It’s making me feel _gooood!_ ” Georg hears Tom’s spluttering reply, and he bursts out laughing as Tom flounders around, trying to recover some form of dignity but there’s no hope for him, and he turns to look at Gustav to see his reaction but...

“Trousers, Georg?” The blond is always spoiling his fun.

“Bah.” He huffs, looking around for the pair from yesterday but… “Where are my jeans?”

“Over by the dresser, where you abandoned them last night, Hagen. Learn to put your shit away and then you won’t lose it.”

“Why should I? You’ll just find it for me anyway.”

“Fuck you, I am not your housewife.”

“You clean up after me, don’t you?”

“Only because if I didn’t, we’d all die under a mountain of crap from your pitiful attempts at being organised and tidy.” Georg finds the jeans, pulls them on and Tom finally heaves a sigh of relief.

“Err… guys?” Tom calls from the bed. “I hate to interrupt the old married couple thing —”

“We are not old!”

“…I love how you object to old, but not to married, Gustav.” Georg rolls his eyes, zipping up his jeans.

“I’m not old!”

“Married, Gustav. He said old and married.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.” Gustav rolls his eyes, “We fight like a married couple anyway. Now that you’re actually somewhat decent…”

“I have questions,” Tom cuts in. “A lot of them.” Ah. Okay.

“Okay.” Georg feels the whiplash from the mood shift – suddenly the atmosphere is serious and heavy. This is a very delicate matter, a very difficult one. They need to approach with care to avoid frightening him off – the last thing they need is to have to prevent Tom from doing a naked sprint down the hall to his own room. But they’ll let the younger boy lead it for the moment like they discussed in the shower after that a-fucking-mazing blow job.

“Okay. Would you like some tea first?” Gustav asks. “Coffee?” He’s not trying to delay the inevitable but Tom’s voice is hoarse and they need to take care of him physically as well as answer his questions.

“Water. Please.” And that’s rare as all hell – Tom saying please. Gustav gets him a bottle from the fridge, throws it onto the bed to let Tom keep his distance. He eyes them warily as he reaches for it, hardly even blinking before he snatches up the bottle, brings it closer to him with one hand while keeping the other holding the duvet tight around himself. Tom cracks the lid, takes a deep swallow, and Georg sees his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and he’s suddenly taken back to last night and the heady feelings of sex and orgasm and Tom’s submission to their Dominance.

His cock throbs in time with his heartbeat and he wants last night all over again.

It was amazing — Tom’s sensitivity, his beautifully untrained responses that were still right on the mark, the fact he’d given himself over to them completely by the end of the night, letting them control him entirely.... Georg thinks — no, he _knows_ — that going back to a club submissive or even a professional is going to be impossible for a long time now that he’s had something so far above that level, but it’s not all he wants.

It’s not just about the sex, not just more rutting and orgasm with no strings attached – that’s cheap and cowardly and he’s moved past that a long time ago. Back when he realised what it meant to be with someone for good, to be with Gustav as a man and not as a teenage-hormone-ridden boy, he had to grow up a lot, make changes to his lifestyle when he made that formal bond with Gustav, taking himself off the market for good. He remembers not wanting to be stuck in an endless cycle of faces and no names, the same cycle that Tom is stuck in now.

No, he wants everything, everything that a Dom could want — he wants to feed Tom up, to make him strong again, to build him back to where he used to be because what he saw last night, the broken- down, too thin boy who was slowly drowning under David’s orders… that wasn’t the Tom he knows, that he might actually fall in love with. The Tom he knows so well, the one he wants back, is a happy, slightly awkward teenager with all the fire and passion in the world, a boy who believes so much in the music, he’s willing to throw away everything else to get it.

He wants to be there for Tom, through the bad and the good, to take his mouth, to take his body, teach him to both give and take the most exquisite kinds of pleasure and he knows that Tom could do it, he fucking knows it.

It’s a blow to the gut, this realisation in the bright light of day – he wants it again and again, more and more, bigger and better even though Tom’s so fucking confused right now and they’ve got one hell of a lot of explaining to do. He can’t think of anything he wants more in the entire, and when he looks at Gustav, he knows the blond feels the same.

Fuck. They’ve fallen deep.

Gustav licks his lips, and Georg sees his hands are slightly trembling. This is their duty now, to explain to Tom what exactly happened, to set his mind at rest about David because there’s no way this can continue – it’ll kill the band, and it’ll kill Tom at the same time. No. They have to come clean.

And that means coming clean about how much they want Tom.

How he’ll take it, Georg has no idea. But they have to try.


	12. Chapter 12

 

Where to begin? Is there a beginning to this? Is there an end? Have they reached a point where Tom can just let go of everything?

He doesn’t know.

Across the room, Gustav leans on the back of an armchair, his eyes staring intently at Tom. Georg is propped up on the dresser, his jeans low slung, and Tom can feel himself blushing as he remembers what happened last night when those jeans came undone.

He opens his mouth, tries to talk, to ask a question but nothing happens. Nothing comes out.

“What would you like to know Tom?” Georg tries to coax something out of him.

There’s only one question on his mind: **Why?** Why did they …punish him like that? Why do they care? Why did they let him sleep in their bed? Why the whole thing with the cuffs and the chains, and the … the kissing and the hands and everything. He’d like answers but he doesn’t even know if he can ask the questions.

“You can ask anything,” Gustav prompts again.

He shrugs, leans back into the mass of pillows. Anything? What about…. “Why?”

“Why what?” Georg says, and Tom stares at him. “Be specific, Tom.”

“Why… why did you come and get me from the lobby?” There. A nice, simple question, he thinks.

“Because we needed to get you up here,” Georg says. “We had to… I mean… there was…”

“But why? You were so… you just dragged me away in front of everyone and I don’t know why but I’d like to...”

“We… Look, okay, maybe I should just say something first.”

“Alright.” Tom doesn’t know what to expect but Gustav is staring at Georg who is now pacing across the floor. Georg is usually the laid-back one, the man who rolls with the punches, who is calm and in control, but he’s stressed out now, his hands going up to run through his hair, sliding out the hair band only to redo it again.

Everything feels different now – everyone’s roles have changed, and he doesn’t know where he stands anymore. Tom doesn’t like it. He wants it to go back to how it was but…

“This isn’t going to be nice, Tom. What I’m about to say, it’s going to hurt you. A lot.” Georg’s voice is strained but he stares hard at Tom, determination in every line of his face. “Do you understand?”

“…I do.” They want him out of the band? That must be it, one last fucking hurrah before they kick him out and of course …. Oh fuck, he can’t do this now… but Gustav is there, and he’s seen that Tom is getting ready to bolt –

“Stay on the bed, Tom,” he warns and Tom’s hands start to shake. Something bad is about to happen, something very bad because Georg is being serious and it’s Georg and why the fuck is he being like that?

“These last few weeks, Tom, have been hell.” Georg stands at the foot of the bed, one hand on the bedpost. “You’ve not been there, you’ve made mistakes, you’ve missed so many rehearsals and shit…”

It’s true. It’s so fucking true. He just couldn’t do it all. If he stayed out all night like David told him to, he couldn’t function the next day, he had to sleep, and the only time was during rehearsals and his playing has sucked and he’s missed everyone and Georg and Gustav hate him and Bill wants to kill him or at least kill their bond…

“Tom!” Gustav cuts through his frightening whirling thoughts. “It’s okay, Tom,” he says, but it’s not o-fucking-kay because everything’s falling apart and he broke down and he didn’t go out last night and oh God, what if David counts this as defying him – he can’t live himself if he’s failed Bill like that – he’d never forgive himself if Bill had to … had to do that with a girl that he didn’t love because Tom failed him…

“It’s okay, Tom.” Suddenly, Georg is there, hand on his shoulder, and Tom can’t help it, he has to cling to it, has to hold onto it with his own because he’s struggling to breathe, everything hurts and he’s crying a bit. Georg’s saying something but Tom can’t hear it through the rushing in his ears, and then there’s another set of hands on him, laying him down on his side and rubbing along his back, talking to him, telling him to breathe.

“You’re okay, Tom,” Gustav says. “Breathe for us, in…. and ….out…” His hand is hot on his skin, and Tom quakes under the strange but not unwanted touch.

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, Georg’s hand clutched in his, Gustav’s on his back, and it feels like that’s all that’s holding him together.

He floats, suspended in time or so it feels, the world a faint buzzing beyond Gustav’s quiet encouragement to breathe and Georg’s hand in his, anchors to this bed, to this hotel room, to this body. There’s no pressure, no drive, just him and them and the fact that he’s naked and the duvet is slipping lower and lower and Georg is still only half-dressed and Gustav can probably see his reddened buttocks means nothing to him.

He breathes in when he’s told to and out as well, and when Georg stretches out beside him, he doesn’t react, just accepts the man’s other hand on the side of his head, the warmth of his palm seeping through into Tom’s skin down to where he’s so damn cold.

He can’t think about David, about the hours and hours he’s wasted in loud clubs with girls he doesn’t give a shit about. He can’t think about the fact he’s not eaten in ages, living on energy bars and cigarettes to suppress the hunger pangs, choosing sleep over food because he’s been getting only a few hours a night. He can’t think about how much he’s just so fucking tired of it all, how much he misses jamming with Georg and Bill in the green room, how much he misses watching a film with Gustav because the man just gets the need for classic cars and explosions.

He’s going to have to say goodbye to all that now.

Part of Tom is aching, breaking, shattering under the weight of the knowledge that he’s being ejected from the band but another part knows why – he’s been absent for so long, fucking up so much he’s hardly a positive asset anymore, and Georg and Gustav must be sick of it. They hate people compromising their music, and frankly, he’s been doing nothing but since David set him on this road to hell.

“Tom?” He hears Gustav talking but he can’t stop. He’s crying, and his throat feels tight again but he’s too damn tired to do anything but curl up into himself, and he’s hardly even aware of Georg’s hands in his anymore. Tears keep coming, and how he’s got any left after last night, Tom doesn’t know but they won’t stop, they won’t stop running down his face, and he shudders, drawing in a breath and it hurts, stabbing into him so hard he feels raw inside.

His heart aches deep inside, seeking a connection to his other half but it’s not there anymore. He’s pulled away too much, pushed the other half of himself away until… until he broke it, destroyed it and it’s so damaged he can’t imagine how he would fix it, how he could go around picking up the shattered bond and putting it back together.

And he can’t find Bill any longer either.

Bill must hate him, he knows, because Tom’s been breaking every promise they’ve ever made to each other – never to let go, never to keep secrets, always to put the music first and every time Bill’s pushed him to tell it’s been so fucking hard to not break down and spill his guts. But he loves Bill too much to make him do what David threatened, and even if Bill hates him for the rest of his fucking life, Tom would still take the fall for him.

The tears still come, and Tom breaks in slow motion, and everything hurts.

He knew the end would come; he knew he’d fall down eventually. Nobody can carry what he did for long. Someone was bound to find out, bound to. He just wishes that Georg and Gustav hadn’t made it fun, hadn’t given him pleasure. If they’d given him pain, he could have gotten up, been the one to walk away. He’s good at that – always been the one to leave, or to kick people out.

But they made it good and he gave up control to them, and they reached into him, into his soul and touched something deep inside, something that he doesn’t understand and that he’s been terrified of since he was thirteen and suddenly realised that he wanted to give up control – something that he didn’t know even existed.

Giving up control was nothing he’d imagined, and he’d never been able to summon up the courage to look inside, to examine what he wanted from a partner when it came to that. But Georg and Gustav had just done it and it had been amazing – he’d never come so hard and fast or reached such depths when he could just trust that someone would bring him back.

How he’s meant to leave now, he doesn’t know.

But he has to.

\--

Tom has broken.

That’s all that Gustav can think – that Tom has broken open, shattered apart on his bed and somehow they have to do something, put back him together from the wreck he is now.

He stares across at Georg, who looks back at him with equal parts worry and sadness on his face. Tom probably thinks they’re kicking him to the curb, cutting him from the band and while another, more commercial band driven by money and not by friendship and music might have done so – not them.

This is Tokio Hotel. This is Georg and Gustav. This is Tom.

They don’t believe in betraying people like that.

Unlike David.

Gustav strokes along Tom’s ribs, trying to give him support, and he feels like hitting something because every one of them is showing. Tom’s spine is prominent on his back, and he’s so fucking thin his belly isn’t just flat, it curves inwards, leaving Gustav feeling sick at the sight. Tom’s never been big, not like Gustav or Georg but he’s never been like this.

No matter what happens, this has to change.

He feels the thin chest beneath his hands hitch and shudder as Tom cries and his own hearts hurts. Tom almost never breaks down, but this is relentless, uninhibited sadness and there is nothing he can do but be there for Tom, touch him, ground him, keep him there with them until he’s ready.

Georg’s thumb keeps rubbing circles on Tom’s hand, and he strokes at Tom’s cheek, brushing away the soft downy hair that’s flying free from his dreads. Gustav has an urge to just reach out, touch that softness, and see if it’s real.

It’s strange being so close to him now that there’s nothing but a need to comfort in their actions – no sex, no lust, no seeking pleasure, only looking to give comfort and Gustav feels that this is right. It’s all about pleasure and pain sometimes, but this is the other side, the comfort, the reassurance, the giving of tender care, and he knows that it’s what he’s been looking for. This is what’s been missing in his previous experiences with subs.

Sure, he’s cleaned them down, helped them back into clothes, but at the end of the day, they say goodbye and walk away, and he’s always been left feeling curiously unsatisfied by that, needing to give more of himself but not permitted to cross that boundary between purely casual and intimate.

Now though… now that dream is coming true and it’s all thanks to this beautiful boy. And Tom is genuinely beautiful – not handsome like Georg because he doesn’t have a strong, masculine face, or stubble or thick muscles everywhere – he’s lean, with long coltish legs that don’t always seem to know where they’re going, a long neck that any girl would die for, thin arms that hide deceptively strong muscles.

His face – big eyes, long lashes, soft skin that hasn’t felt the kiss or bite of a razor yet, a full lower lip with the shot of silver through it – it’s a strange blend of masculine and feminine, so wrong it’s right, and Tom doesn’t want to embrace it but it’s true.

Gustav’s been watching him for long enough to know.

Tom’s always been on his radar, floating around the periphery of sexual attraction and ever since he found that gay magazine on the tour bus, he’d suddenly taken another kind of interest in the boy but it was… it wasn’t something he needed to act upon, not something he felt the drive to pursue.

Until he found that Tom was a submissive.

His whole world view shifted, his natural need to Dom coming to the fore in the argument of should he approach him. They had been missing out on so much, not having a permanent submissive, and he and Georg were good but not good enough. Club submissives and professionals could tide them through but they weren’t permanent, didn’t stick around for the long haul, couldn’t give them what they needed.

But Tom could, if he was so inclined.

Tom is an attractive boy, he can freely admit that. He’s not as two-dimensional as the cameras try to sell him. The boy isn’t stupid – he can give as good as he gets in a physical fight, but he’s also bright, able to hold a discussion over breakfast on politics or sports as well music and girls.

He has hidden depths as well, deep ones. He watches films and actually watches, picking out allegories and themes that Gustav never would have thought of, and he knows the boy has some decent audiobooks on his iPod – proper classics not just cheap beach fiction. Even though he has OCD and can’t stand untidiness unless he put it there, Tom is rarely overbearing with it, letting them mess shit up and watch him put it back in order without complaint. He has a big heart, so carefully guarded against the world because it’s been thrown around and stomped on so many times, but once you’re in, it’s fucking difficult to get out again – Tom’s friends are friends for life.

He’s got a wicked sense of humour, a work ethic that drives him to perfectionism, he’s a brilliant musician for all that he can’t read music, and him and Bill together… it’s incredible what they come up with sometimes.

Gustav could really learn to fall in love with him. It wouldn’t be easy – not a fairy-tale romance because Tom is flawed too. He’s too loud, he’s so defensive, when he’s nervous he clams up and won’t talk to anyone, he’s not always a playboy but he’s too easy to convince to play it up for the cameras, he prefers instant gratification over waiting for better pleasure…

He’s attached to Bill at the hip, bone-idle as a cat in the sunshine, a tried and true Mama’s boy, not to mention a hopeless and incurable egocentric individual at times. Both Georg and Gustav take no small amount of pleasure in puncturing Tom’s ego to bring it back to down to manageable precautions when it’s gotten a little out of control.

But he’s human, he’s real, he’s someone who’s still growing, still changing. The Tom he knew when they were still Devilish isn’t the Tom he sees today, the one he wants to fall in love with, the one who he wants to teach about not holding back and letting go, and just trusting them.

Last night, seeing just how much Tom is a submissive, how far he is willing to go and knowing that Gustav and Georg could take him further… It’s a heady rush, a delicious torment of the future that could be if they do this right, and Gustav wants it all for fuck’s sake – he wants Tom’s submission and his mouth and his body but he also wants his time, his mind, his love.

Goddamnit, he’s fallen hard.

He reaches down, rubs his thumb along Tom’s hip and feels Tom flinch at the new sensation.

“It’s okay,” Georg soothes. “You’re alright...”

But he isn’t alright, not yet, and Gustav grits his teeth at the thought of what is to come later on today. There’s a hell of a long way to go before alright can be achieved. Right now, he’d settle for… calm. With it. Functioning.

He reaches over to the bedside table, fumbles for the cardboard box of tissues on the top. Bringing it back to the bed, he draws a few out of the container, waiting for Tom to get through the worst of it before he intervenes with them.

Long minutes go by before Tom begins to cry himself out, his breathing slowing down, his shoulders not quite so tense. Gustav waits, keeping his hand moving, letting Tom know that he’s still there by virtue of physical contact alone. There’s nothing to do but wait, and Gustav is patient.

Across from him, Georg bites his lip and rubs his thumb over Tom’s hand and waits as well.

The clock reads nine forty one when Tom’s tears finally stop. Gustav reaches over, hands Georg a tissue. “Are you back again, Tom?” he asks, softly. Tom doesn’t say anything but he sort of shrugs and Gustav supposes that’s better than nothing. “Here, wipe your face…” Georg carefully extracts his hand from Tom’s, stuffs the square of soft paper into it as a poor but necessary replacement.

Tom sniffles, wiping clumsily, and Gustav says nothing as Tom lets the tissue drop to the mattress as Georg hands him another one. He doesn’t sit up, stays curled up on his side, his back to Gustav and if he was so inclined, he could reach out, touch Tom’s still faintly red buttocks, feel the heat from last night.

He doesn’t. He isn’t so inclined, not when Tom is so fragile, so delicate. It would destroy everything, wreck Tom again in a moment, and that’s just not what any of them need right now.

“Tom?” he calls out, gently, and Tom stiffens under his hand. “No, don’t hide away,” he says, because Tom is trying to stuff his head under his arm, and Georg has to reach out, pull his wrist away by hooking fingers into the D-ring of the cuff, holding Tom’s arm flat against the mattress. “You can’t hide, Tom. You have to face up to it.”

There’s a muffled sound and Gustav reaches over Tom’s side, finds the boy’s chin, pulls his face out of the sheets. “Say again?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Georg says, and Gustav notices that Georg is still holding the cuff to the bed and Tom is making no attempt to remove it. “I know you’re sorry, Tom.”

“Can I at least say goodbye?”

Georg looks at Gustav in surprise. “Why would you want to say goodbye, Tom?”

“If I… If I’m l-leaving, then I’d l-like to say goodbye to Bi-Bill,” Tom mumbles, his face devastated but resolute.

“Oh, Tom” Gustav says, and suddenly he understands just how deep Tom’s fear goes – that they wouldn’t even let him say goodbye to Bill before sending him away. “We’re not kicking you out of the band.”

“Wh-what?”

Georg reaches out, pokes a finger on Tom’s forehead. “You idiot, Tom,” he says, grinning a little. “We’re trying to get you to stay, not sending you away.”

“But… I thought…”

“You jumped to conclusions,” he says, and Gustav fights to keep the smile from his lips because Georg sounds so exasperated and yet so fond of Tom that it’s a perfect little moment.

Tom wipes his eyes with his free hand. “But… why not?”

This time Gustav answers, “Because we want you to stay.” It’s as simple as that. They want him to stay, so he gets to stay.

“But… but I’m such a fuck-up, I’ve messed everything up – I’ve ruined whole fucking concerts now!” Tom whispers into the bedding.

Gustav resolves to change that attitude, right now. “Yes, you did mess up. But it wasn’t your fault – it was David’s.”

“But…”

Gustav grabs Tom’s shoulder, tips him onto his back, leans over him so Tom has no chance to escape. “Read. My. Lips. You did fuck up, that’s true, but it was as a result of what David was doing to you. You are not to blame for this, you are not responsible for what that dick did to you, and you are not the one who made those choices.”

“I…”

“Look at me, Tom. You are not at fault here.” But Tom looks away, determinedly staring past Gustav into the ceiling as he shakes his head, the pulse flickering in his neck, and Gustav decides to really wake him up. He leans down, presses his lips to the side of Tom’s throat, and the boy gasps, bucking up but Gustav’s already retreated. “Do I have your attention now?”

“Wha- wh – Yes!” Tom says, staring at him wideeyed, and Georg is stifling a chuckle. “You have my fucking attention, Gustav!”

“Better.” Gustav reaches over, strokes his finger against that little patch of wet. “You are not to blame. You didn’t start this.” Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him, and when Gustav withdraws his hand, he could swear he sees a little bit of longing for more in Tom’s eyes before it’s eclipsed by worry again.

“I could have stopped it…”

Gustav shrugs. “You thought that if you told anyone, Bill would suffer. He’s your brother. Your twin. I don’t know what I would do if anyone threatened my sister, but I don’t think I could just blurt it out to anyone.”

Tom’s looking at him but it’s not just worry and fear in his eyes now; there’s consideration and understanding there. Gustav and his sister are not as close as Bill and Tom – is anyone as close as those two, he wonders – but he would kill anyone who dared to threaten her like that. He gets where Tom’s coming from, that’s what he’s trying to say, and he thinks Tom is starting to know that now.

“I think,” Georg says and Tom twists to look up at him where he’s propped up against the pillows, one arm along the top of the headboard, “that you got in too deep, you know. And then you forgot that we were on your side.” He reaches down, strokes a finger along Tom’s hairline. “We would have rescued you,” he says and Tom closes his eyes against the tiny reprimand for not trusting them in that sentence. Georg strokes down to those fluttering lashes, and Tom sighs. “Me and Gustav? We’ve been friends with you for a long time now.”

"And as much as we liked David before we found out, we like you more,” Gustav adds, and Tom shifts in place, his hand half way to his backside before he realises and replaces it on the bed. “Even if we did spank you for what you did.”

Tom’s cheeks are suffused with a pretty pink, and Gustav grins down at the boy even as he resolutely keeps his eyes shut as he speaks, “Why did you do that to me?” His voice is soft but Gustav senses the steel nerve it must take to ask such a question when he’s feeling so confused.

Good boy.

“Because you weren’t talking,” Gustav says simply, and he reaches down for Tom’s free hand, the other still pinned to the bed by Georg. “Because no matter what we did, you were sinking deeper and deeper into drugs and booze and girls and we didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.”

“Yeah.” Tom doesn’t deny it. There’s no need – the truth is written on his body, in prominent bones and taut skin and hollow cheeks.

“We offered for you to talk on your own terms and you would – or you couldn’t accept it,” he amends when Tom stiffens under his hand. “You couldn’t accept it and then we needed to stop this because it was spiralling out of control.”

Tom nods. It was. At first it had been just one or two nights, then three, then four, then nights after a concert, then almost every night they were in a city, and it was so fucking out of anyone’s control except David’s that all they could do was stand and watch the destruction of the older twin, night after night, day after day, all recorded in print and spread to the masses by Bild and other tabloid rags.

“We needed you to come clean and when you couldn’t do it by yourself, we decided… a little incentive was in order…” Gustav trails off and Tom snorts.

“You call that incentive?”

Georg chuckles, shrugs. “Got you talking, didn’t it?” And then he laughs properly because Tom opens his mouth to deny it, then reconsiders and shuts it again, heat flaring over his cheeks and down his neck.

“It did, didn’t it, Tom?” Gustav prods gently and Tom nods, reluctantly. It did. “You were drowning and you didn’t know to reach out for help so we did it for you.”

“Couldn’t have picked a less painful method, could you?” he mumbles, licking at his lip ring.

Gustav chuckles. “But it got the point across, didn’t it? About not hiding secrets?” Tom huffs, but the blush deepens, and Gustav knows it’s true. “Honestly, Tom. We wouldn’t have seriously harmed you.”

“But…”

“How do you feel this morning?” he asks, pushing Tom to think properly and not just react. “Are you bleeding? Do you feel any serious pain? Are you in need of medical attention?”

“…No.” Tom lifts up one leg experimentally and the duvet slips ever further down his hip, but he doesn’t seem to notice and neither Gustav nor Georg go to correct it, letting it lie where it is exposing Tom’s entire torso. “I feel… okay.”

“You see?” Gustav rubs his thumb across Tom’s hand, feeling the edge of the leather cuff against the side of his hand and it makes him start to remember last night. “The lesson was taught, and by tonight, the last of the sting will have worn off. No permanent harm done.”

“Alright. I’ll buy that the … that…” Tom trails off, his blush deepening again before he skips on straight past the word. “I’ll buy that that was a lesson but what about afterwards?” He stares straight at Gustav, challenging him with a boldness that’s surprising and yet so very Tom in its directness that he feels a rush in his chest. The old Tom hasn’t died yet. He’s still there and waiting to come back out.

Gustav wants to save that part of him, wants it back and flourishing over this new, broken-down imitation Tom that’s been self-destructing for months.

But first…The question. How to put to Tom that they’ve both fallen for him, fallen hard and fast, that they’re Doms looking for a sub, and they think they’ve found one in him?

That’s going to go over like a lead balloon unless…. He looks at Georg, appealing for some sort of help on this.


	13. Chapter 13

  
  


Gustav is appealing for help, looking way out of his depth, and Georg nods, stepping up to the plate because frankly, there is no easy way to begin this. And Gustav… he doesn’t do so well with matters of the heart – not when you have to be so sensitive about it. Under his hand, Georg can feel Tom’s nerves making him jumpy and restless, and he thinks that Gustav made the right decision handing this off to him. Tom is calm for the most part at the moment but it would be so easy to tip him over the edge, scare him off them and their proposition for good.

He casts around for a way to direct this but in the end he decides to head straight at it, use the direct approach even if he’s not completely used it. Sometimes, you just have to be honest.

“What do you think about us, Tom?” he says, and those beautiful eyes snap to look at him, wide and alarm slipping through them.

“Bu- what?”

Clearly Tom wasn’t ready for that, and he backpedals, trying to get Tom to stay with him and not freak out. “Okay, let me start another way. You know me and Gustav are in a relationship?” Tom nods, slowly, but he’s not trying to bolt yet and that’s a good sign. “We’ve been together for about a year now.” A year last Wednesday but Tom doesn’t need the details just yet.

“Oh.” Tom nods, but he’s obviously not appeased by the revelation and he absently flicks his lip ring with his tongue. Georg wants to lean down, kiss it, bite into that pouting mouth, take that flashing silver between his teeth, let Tom feel him all over but he can’t – not now, not when he has to be on the ball and not thinking with his cock. He shifts, tries to redirect his thoughts into something more productive.

“Georg?” Gustav leans over, pokes his thigh, and Tom snickers as Georg flinches from the touch. “Earth to Hagen.”

“I’m getting there, so fuck you, Gustav,” Georg says and there’s a brief flare of amusement in Tom’s eyes, his lips curving into a tiny smile before returning to that strange, raw intrigue fear mix. “We’re… we live a different lifestyle,” he starts and Gustav raises an eyebrow at him, amused to see Georg floundering around. “What you saw last night, that’s how we work all the time.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.” Georg nods, settles deeper into the pillows, and he’s hyperaware of those brown-gold eyes on him, laser-focused and determined. He feels very exposed, and for a minute he wishes he’d put on a shirt before starting this, but getting off the bed now would just be delaying the inevitable and he’s kind of gone beyond doing that now. “Of course, sometimes, we’re just together. Sometimes it’s just us two and the sex is … normal – not chains and cuffs and stuff. Don’t get me wrong – it’s fucking awesome sex.” He grins at Gustav who pulls a half smirk back at him. “And I wouldn’t give it up for anything…”

His left hand pulls on the D-ring of the cuff he’s holding down to the bed, and Tom’s eyes flicker down before coming back up to stare at him again. “But there’s a bit that doesn’t work between us. We’re missing something important, and as we’ve kind of gone through the whole relationship thing – got to know each other better, got to know how we work – that’s becoming more obvious.”

“A lot more,” Gustav says, and Georg nods in agreement.

“Yeah. Sometimes, there’s just a particular dynamic and with us… we got two-thirds of it right. But that last bit… that’s off a lot of the time.”

“But… what does that have to do with me?” Tom asks and Georg reaches down with his other hand, presses a finger to Tom’s lips.

“Shush. I’m trying to bare my soul here.” Tom huffs and Georg feels the lip ring brush against his calluses as those soft lips move into a tiny pout before relaxing. “We like you. A lot. As a friend, and as a person. You’re clever, you’ve got an amazing heart… not to mention, you’re really kinda hot.” Tom colours, his eyes closing as he turns his head into the pillow some more and Gustav chuckles faintly. Tom’s all about the image on camera but as they’re only just starting to realise – strip him down, take away all those defences and he’s kind of shy about stuff, kind of new to it and it’s so damn intoxicating to see.

Georg moves his finger from Tom’s lips, caresses the blushing cheeks, and he watches in fascination as Tom bites his lip ring, his eyes clenched tight shut, but the boy doesn’t fight it. He just takes the touch as it comes, letting Georg do what he wants, trace indeterminable patterns on the soft skin there.

He wants this, Georg realises. Tom… even if he can’t say it, even if he can’t use his words… he wants this, wants something deeper than the superficial flings he’s been surviving on. A touch, a kiss, the normality of it… he wants that. It feels good to know that they could be the ones to fill that hole, to be there for Tom like that.

He flicks his eyes to Gustav, needing the reassurance that this is the right thing to do, that he’s not going off the deep end. He gets a brief nod, and Gustav’s hand carries on stroking Tom’s side, keeping the boy grounded.

“Tom, look at me.” He waits, patience on his side as he watches Tom turn his head back, stare at him again with wide eyes. “Whatever happens today, whatever you choose, we’re still your friends. We’ll still help you stop David from fucking your life over and keep you in the band. That’s a promise. Right here, right now, that’s our promise to you. We still want you in the band, as a friend even if nothing else. ”

“We’re always here for you,” Gustav says quietly and Tom nods, eyes darting between the two of them as he shifts a little further down the bed, the duvet riding down some more on his hips and Georg says nothing even as more of Tom’s thigh comes into view.

God, another inch or two… and Tom doesn’t even notice. From the look on Gustav’s face though, he has seen and he extends his other hand, rests it on Tom’s thigh, his fingers just brushing over the edge of it onto Tom’s skin. The man looks… content. Pleased. Relaxed.

And Georg knows exactly why.

This is what they want. The calm atmosphere of the room, the closeness of this moment – this is what they’ve been missing with all their partners, all the men and women they’ve shared sexually between them. With the subs they had, they have a session in a club or in a hotel room but it’s all artificial, all about sating a need temporarily and nothing more. When they’ve finished and everyone’s come – or not, as the case may be – they hand over clothes and say goodbye and often slip an envelope of money that nobody mentions but they’re all hyperaware of into a jacket pocket, and that’s it.

There is no closeness, no morning after, no gentle talking about what happened. The sub walks away to disappear into the night or the early hours of the morning, and they have a shower, and go to bed and feel the empty space between them gaping wide open. A sub is more than just a sex partner – there is a role they and they alone can fulfil.

To be so close to having it makes Georg’s breath catch in his throat and he has to stare at the wall for a moment, reign in his thoughts and his imagination because he wants so fucking much – he’s never wanted anything more in his life. To be complete, to have a lover in Tom as well a sub would be his greatest desire fulfilled, and he knows, right down to his bones he knows, that it’s Gustav’s dream as well.

They’re so young for Doms and no doubt there will be mistakes and they’ll fight and there will be issues to sort out because that’s how relationships work – all relationships, not just Dom/sub ones. And when he and Gustav got together there were lots of disagreements over stupid things like sleeping arrangements and clothes and phone chargers but they got through it and now they’re not just good, they’re great.

But with Tom, they could be so much more.

Georg strokes his finger down Tom’s cheek again, and the boy looks back at him, staring deep into him. There’s a mass of whirling thoughts there; he sees worry and fear and that’s understandable. They have kind of sprung this upon him and even if they’re not telling him everything, what they’re giving him is a lot to think on, a lot to take on board after such a night. But behind that, he sees – or he hopes he sees – longing, desire and interest.

Tom wouldn’t have stayed last night if he wasn’t interested, Georg tries to reassure himself. There’s no way he wouldn’t have submitted like that if he didn’t at least want a taste, a tiny bite at the apple. From accepting the spanking, to taking the pleasure and orders they gave him on the bed – he took it, went with the flow and it was so fucking easy even if they had to guide him, to help him overcome barriers about looking, and feeling and accepting it as it comes and not actively seeking it.

He could have said no, he rationalises. Tom could have stopped it even though they didn’t give him a safeword, but he didn’t and he just gave and gave and allowed them to give right back and was so fucking responsive that it’s ruined any chance of just getting over it like they would anyone else.

A touch, a lick of tongue, a pinch of his nipple and Tom was theirs completely and utterly. He kissed them for fuck’s sake, gave as good as he got, spread his legs and let them bring him to orgasm twice, let them rip him apart at the seams and guide him over the edge into a shallow subspace, and in all his life, Georg has never felt so rewarded for something so simple.

Fuck.

In the back of Georg’s mind, there’s a little green monster emerging at thought of someone else seeing Tom like that and now he knows he’s fucking lost it because… because he’s getting jealous. He can’t stand the thought that Tom might go away and get with other people, even if they’ve done so little, and there’s another voice in the back of his head and it sounds just like his first ex-girlfriend and it says “it was just one night!” and he realises that he’s clenching his fist tight around the D-ring loop in his left hand and Gustav is staring at him.

And so is Tom.

He looks at Gustav, begging him to say something, to do anything because he’s lost, adrift on a sea of his own mind and there’s no way he can carry on now.

“Look at me, Tom,” Gustav says.

\--

“Look at me, Tom,” Gustav asks, his voice as soft as he can make it. “Please.” It’s the please that does it; Tom looks at him, wide-eyed and nervous, but he’s staring at Gustav right in the eye, just how he should be. He’s not trying to cover his face, not trying to turn away from them even after everything they’ve confessed and that’s good, that’s really fucking good.

The twins are instinctive, reactive and when they don’t like something, you know. Immediately. If Tom is still considering this, is still thinking on what he’s going to do – to say about this… there’s hope. God, there is fucking hope.

He breathes in, strokes a hand down Tom’s newly exposed thigh, tries to curtail his thoughts from going down routes about sex and blow jobs and shit like that. He has to tread so fucking carefully right now – Tom’s silence won’t hold forever and one wrong word, one wrong implication, and they’ll never get him back.

He can’t confess everything. Georg has stayed away from revealing all their BDSM secrets and there’s a reason for that but there’s something else that they need to tell too and....

He carries on stroking Tom’s hip, while his thumb rubs small circles on Tom’s cuff, and gradually the simple repetitive nature of the movements starts getting to the boy, making him relax into the mattress again. Those big brown eyes lose the wild uncertainty that’s been present in various degrees all morning and he’s no longer tense. Now he’s limp and pliant, and Gustav feels reasonably sure that Tom’s not likely to bolt off the bed anytime soon.

Time to bare his soul then.

“What else do you want to know?”

“Why me?” Tom’s answer is quick and unexpectedly direct. He speaks softly but the glint in his eye tells Gustav that he won’t be satisfied with a half-arsed answer; he wants the truth. “Georg said his bit, but why me for you?”

“Ok-okay.” He has to swallow, try to get some fucking moisture back in his mouth because suddenly it’s as dry as a bone in there. There’s a reason he doesn’t talk in interviews – he’s not good at being put on the spot. But he has to say something now – this isn’t another dumb question about the band or the fans. This is a real question, an honest one, and his answer could make or break Tom in either direction. He breathes in, uses the warmth beneath his hands to ground himself. And then he speaks, “Because I like you. As a friend, as a person… and last night I found that I like you as a lover as well.”

Tom doesn’t say anything but Georg looks at Gustav, his eyes intent and searching. This isn’t something they’ve laid out between them, isn’t something they’ve discussed as a couple – and maybe they should have and maybe they’ll learn from it as a mistake – but honesty has always been Gustav’s friend and he’s not about to stop now.

“Last night… was amazing. Better than I ever could have expected. Than I could have dreamed of. You were so good, so responsive – you gave yourself to us and … that’s what we’ve been looking for. What I’ve been looking for.” His thumb is wedged up against the edge of the cuff and it’s such a real reminder that what happened all those hours ago is still happening in a strange way. There’s still the three of them in this bed, in this room, and it’s a weird feeling having a morning after with a third person, but he kind of likes it.

He wants it to happen again.

“But… I’ve never done that before. I mean – I don’t like bo-men!” Tom stutters out but he sounds insecure and like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“Nobody’s saying that you do, Tom,” Gustav says, slowly, but he carries on. “You don’t have to figure out what your sexuality is at the moment, and we’re not going to force you to come out or anything… But… I found that magazine in your bunk.”

“What magazine?” But Tom’s obviously clocked which one and all the colour has drained from his face. He looks sickly, and Georg’s hand comes down, pushing him back into the mattress as he tries to bolt upright, and all that tenseness returns with a vengeance.

“Mars magazine. Under your bed, between Penthouse and Playboy. Black and white cover, nice guy on the front. Great abs, by the way.” Gustav shrugs and Tom’s face whitens further. He actually looks like he might faint. “Yeah, that one.”

“Bu… That’s not mine!”

Tom doesn’t see it, but Gustav sees Georg rolling his eyes. Oldest lie in the book. “Oh really? So you carry around a five-year-old softcore gay magazine for no reason then?”

Tom doesn’t even blush he’s so frightened, but he turns his head away, accepting the sarcasm like a slap to the face.

“Look, it’s no big deal.” Gustav strokes his hand down Tom’s thigh again, trying to relax him but he’s not having any of it. For the first time, he lashes out, kicks his leg, and it dislodges Gustav’s hand from his skin. “Alright, okay-” Gustav lifts both hands away, makes it clear he’s not going to force the issue. “It’s not a big deal Tom – it’s just a magazine. We’re not going to rag on you because of it.”

“Why the fuck were you digging around in my bunk?” His voice is low, aggressive and there’s anger in his eyes – anger and fear. Gustav has apparently just walked right over one of Tom’s biggest insecurities, one of his panic buttons, and now he’s put the boy on the defensive. Well, fuck.

“I didn’t find it on purpose. It was a couple of months ago – when we had that night off on the bus, right at the beginning of the tour?” It was so long ago now, but Tom nods slowly, his eyes still narrowed. “When you asked me to get your iPod I knocked over a stack of magazines, and well…”

“You thought you’d go nosing through my stuff, even though you always tell us to ask before going through yours?” Tom snipes back and it’s a fair point, one that’s a legitimate grievance. Gustav has gone off on one more than a few times because someone’s touched his shit and now he’s confessed to doing the exact same thing to Tom…

“I was clumsy. Stupid. I knocked over something and I wasn’t thinking when I pulled them out.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I… was more drunk than I thought?” Gustav doesn’t have an answer; he doesn’t know why he did what he did. Everything kind of changed after that and he wouldn’t change what he did, but right now, he’s suddenly very aware that Tom views it less of just a thing and more of a serious invasion of his privacy. It’s pulling up all sorts of painful, thorny issues and Gustav knows just how difficult that can be. “I don’t know why I did it but I didn’t do it to hurt you – or torment you, or parade it around in front of the cameras. I swear.”

“Fuck you,” Tom spits out, and there’s venom in those two words, but behind that, he hears hurt and fear over what this new revelation will change. Gustav never envisioned himself dragging someone out of the closet like this but Tom needs to accept it, needs to accept that part of himself.

“Tom,” Georg says, quietly. “If Gustav had wanted to hurt you or to make fun of you, he’s had plenty of chances, hasn’t he?” The rationality behind the statement, the logic of it seems to make no difference to Tom who is still glaring at Gustav. “Look at me. Look at me,” he orders and there’s a firm layer of authority in his words, and reluctantly, so fucking slowly it’s like watching in slow motion, Tom turns his head to face the other man. “It’s been nearly three months. You didn’t know, nothing changed, he didn’t tell anyone. Not even me.”

“Wha-what?” Tom’s wrong-footed by that, obviously convinced that Gustav would have spread it around, told everyone that playboy master Tom had a gay porn mag in his possession to knock him down a few pegs. Before he got with Georg, maybe he would have – revenge is still sweet after all this time – but he’s kind of grown up a lot. Waving around Tom’s struggle with his sexuality like that… would be just plain cruel.

The twins have been bullied enough in their hometown. Gustav is not like that.

“I didn’t tell anyone until the evening of the concert where you messed up.” Tom flinches and Georg tries to comfort him by running a hand down his shoulder, but Tom shrugs off the touch, angry and still confused.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t need to.” Gustav absently flicks a crease in his jeans at the knee, worrying at the stiff material. “It made no difference to me what you had in your porn stash then and it still doesn’t now.”

“You could have held that over me,” Tom says mutinously but it’s like he’s stuck on it, that he can’t understand why Gustav wouldn’t have wanted that power. “You could’ve threatened to tell.”

“What would that have done?” Honestly, he could have done it – Tom would have shut right up, stopped ragging on him in interviews about his clothes and being as thick as two shits because he’s a drummer and crap like that and maybe that would have been nice for the first week or two but…

Gustav is a big boy, he can take the insults and even throw one or two of his own, and holding something like that over Tom’s head would have just screwed him up even more, especially when combined with David’s insane plans for the boy as well. “I don’t believe in doing that to anyone Tom, not least my friends.” He shrugs. “It… I didn’t go looking for it, and I didn’t mean to find it but I did, and that’s not going to change now.”

“So what, you think I’m gay now?” Tom’s voice is hard, but his eyes are worried, and there’s a tiny fragment of hope – probably hope for acceptance.

Gustav chooses his words carefully, knowing that it would be very easy to really set Tom off and he doesn’t know if they can handle that. “I don’t think you’re gay. I’ve seen you with girls, and I know that you’ve had sex with women and that you like it. That you’re good at it.” Tom’s shoulders relax just a fraction at the compliment, his anger momentarily appeased by the nod to his prowess with the females of the species. Gustav’s not kidding – Tom is good with them. The fact that he was fucking awesome with the two of them last night is something he elects to keep to himself for now.

“I’m not going to push you to put a label on your sexuality. You can be curious about guys without saying you’re gay or bi. Experimenting doesn’t make you either or.” He points to Georg and himself. “We’re both bisexual. Girls and guys do it for us. He’s a bit less choosy than me, but with cock and pussy on the table, I’m not picky. Really.” Tom quirks a tiny smirk at that but it’s quickly lost to the returning anger.

“Is that why you did… that to me?”

“What?” Oh. “It kind of made me more aware of you, yes.” Gustav swallows and his hands begin to shake again. God, he feels like a fucking train crash waiting to happen but he carries on. “Last night though, I didn’t plan it. We didn’t decide to do that to you but it happened and you liked it. We liked it. And... You could have said no. We offered and you took it and you liked it. Twice, if I remember.”

“I was cuffed and you’d just … you’d fucking punished me!” Tom snaps back and Georg reaches down, pushes Tom into the mattress from where he tries to surge upright. “You fucking made me, you bastards. I didn’t have a choice!”

“Wh- Yes, you did, Tom. You did have a choice. You could have said no but you didn’t-”

“You – I was…. Shut up!” Tom’s voice climbs higher, and he kicks out, and the duvet slips off completely but he doesn’t really seem to notice, trying to get off the bed. “I didn’t want it, you fuckers – I didn’t…” but it sounds more he’s trying to convince himself than anybody else.

Gustav knows the feeling – sometimes seeing something in the bright light of day is very different from experiencing it as it happens – but this is something they have to talk about, have to deal with, and Tom’s not getting away with thinking he was forced.

They didn’t make him take anything; long and short of it is that Tom agreed, Tom submitted, and while he could have called time on it at any point, he didn’t.

Gustav remembers last night – the willing submission, the obedience – and a tiny little flame of anger begins to burn as Tom tries to shift the responsibility for his enjoyment of it onto anybody but himself.

He’s lashing out, frightened of what’s being suggested about himself and they can’t let that go on. Anger and fear are natural responses but it’s not something that Tom can just hide away from. He needs to deal with it, and hurting them won’t stop him from being confused and scared by the experience.

“Stay down, Tom,” Georg cautions, but Tom’s having none of it now; he doesn’t want placating, he wants action. He’s angry and confused and he reacts like he always does, with aggression and hands and a hard frown on his face as he tries to suppress any vulnerability he might have.

Gustav has seen this before, knows it’s how both the twins operate when confronted with difficult issues that challenge them, make them think or question what they believe in. They try to leave, to make the people who are forcing them to think about things let go or risk being hurt more.

He kicks out, trying to get Gustav out of his way to roll off the bed, but Georg has had enough.

“No, fuck – stop it!” he orders, and his hands are suddenly everywhere, pushing Tom into the bed, kneeling beside the boy so he has no choice but to look straight up at him.

Gustav holds his breath, wondering just how this going to go down.

“Let me go.”

“No.”


	14. Chapter 14

 

“Let me go.” Tom’s voice is flat, but there’s anger flaring in his eyes, and the muscles under Georg’s hands are tense and ready to fight.

“No.” Georg keeps his voice even but authoritative, and he doesn’t move one fucking inch. Tom is going to shut up and listen to them before he does anything else – even if Georg has to hold him down the entire time.

“Get the fuck off of me.” Tom bucks up, and Georg has to shift to keep Tom on the bed – goddamnit the boy is stronger than he looks or else anger has lent him strength that Georg didn’t know he possessed, “Get the fuck off of me, or I swear to God, Hagen…”

“What, Tom?” He asks, “What will you do?” He’s not goading Tom; his voice is matter of fact, and Tom bares his teeth in a poor attempt at a snarl as he recognises the futility of any threat he might make. Georg might be a few inches shorter than him, but he’s easily got more than twenty or thirty pounds on the boy, and his arms are strong and thick with muscle. If Tom hits him, Georg isn’t going to be bothered by it unless Tom goes for damage, goes hell for leather, and he’s not quite there yet. Tom's not yet willing to hurt Georg as much as he would need to to make him let go against his will.

He still tries, still blusters and attempts to fight in the face of the truth.

“I’ll hit you!” Tom threatens, his fingers bunching up into fists already, but it’s a lie even to Tom’s ears, and he throws his head back, gritting his teeth as he refuses to look at Georg, aware that he’s lost the fight even before it began. “I’ll break your fucking nose, you bastard.”

“No, you won’t,” Georg says, and the finality in his voice rubs Tom up the wrong way, provokes some deep seated need to win, to have the last word, because those skinny legs come up, and he twists his whole body, slippery as an eel. Georg is suddenly reminded that Kaulitz’s fight dirty and are determined to beat the system any way they can, and he has a hard time holding onto Tom as the dreadhead lashes out, digging his heels into the bed to give himself leverage to shove Georg away.

“Enough!” He barks and throws a leg over Tom’s twisting body, pressing his full weight down on Tom’s belly and crushing most of the breath out of him at the same time. “Stay the fuck down, or I’ll chain you to the headboard!”

“Bite me!” Tom says back, almost shouting, and this is familiar territory for both of them: fists and threats and trying to one up each other. Tom’s almost shouting as he bucks up again, repeating his taunt of _bite me, you motherfucker_.

So Georg does.

He leans down, holding onto Tom’s wrists, pressing the full weight of his body onto those fragile bones under the cuffs, and he clamps his teeth onto that swan’s neck. Bites down hard. Not enough to break the skin, to make Tom bleed, but it’s a proper bite, teeth and lips and pressure enough to hurt, and Tom gasps, his head rolling to the side as Georg feels every tense muscle in his lean body relax involuntarily.

The silence in the room is suddenly very loud.

He draws back, flicks his tongue in a silent apology over the already reddening skin. All he can hear is Tom’s panting, the sound harsh in the still air. Behind him, Gustav is quiet, watching the fight grind to a halt, and Georg wonders what he’s actually just done.

He wanted to shock Tom out of his panic, take away his anger, but that was more than just changing the rules of the game; that was changing the game completely – something intimate and possessive and something that he’d only do to a sub or to Gustav – never to just a friend.

He sits up slowly, waiting for Tom to react again. There’s nothing – no reaction, no stream of vitriol aimed in his direction. Tom is completely limp. His eyes are closed, and, beneath Georg's fingers, his hands are still bunched into fists, but they’re loose and non-threatening now.

He’s done something right; there is no fight left in the boy now, but he worries what has replaced it, worries that he’s suddenly taken that anger and turned it into fear – or worse.

What could be worse, he wonders, but there’s surely something.

“Look at me, Tom,” he asks, and he hates how soft his voice is at the moment. All his insecurity has just come out, but there’s no taking that back now. “Please, look at me, Tom.” He almost begs.

Slowly, so very slowly, Tom turns his head to look at him, his eyelashes fluttering over pale cheeks and dark circles, and Georg wants to look away. He can’t though. He owes Tom that much – to be able to look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

Whatever that truth may be.

“Have you stopped fighting me?” he asks, and Tom licks his lips, nods slowly. “Good. That’s good.” He relaxes his hands on Tom’s wrists, and the leather cuffs creak slightly as the pressure lessens. “I’m going to sit up a bit now. I want you to stay down, exactly where you are. Do you understand?”

Tom doesn’t say anything, but he nods again, his eyes dark, and there are so many emotions and thoughts swirling there that Georg doesn’t dare try to start deciphering them.

Behind him, Georg feels the mattress shift, and suddenly there’s no more dip where Gustav was sitting. Tom’s eyes flick to something over Georg’s shoulder, and sure enough, a few seconds later, Gustav appears around the other side of the bed, crawling over to sit where Georg was before Tom kicked off. His face is passive, and to the untrained eye Gustav is entirely ambivalent to what just happened. Georg isn’t untrained, however. He’s had years of friendship and another of being lovers behind him to teach him to see beyond the surface, and there’s worry loud and clear in Gustav’s intense gaze.

His hand, however, is confident as he reaches out to run a finger over Georg’s bite mark on Tom’s neck.

Tom takes the touch, doesn’t lean into it or move away, and Georg doesn’t quite know what to make of that. Maybe it’s shock, maybe it’s Tom actually accepting what they’re saying… He can’t say either way, but it’s not a fist to the face, so he can call it some sort of progress, surely.

All the while, Tom’s eyes are locked on Georg’s, seeking something from him, and Georg can’t tell if it’s reassurance or a fight he’s after.

Well, it’s reassurance he’s going to get.

“We don’t care if you’re gay, if you’re bi, if you want in with us or not.” He picks up Tom’s hands, shuffling backwards to let him bring them up to clasp them against Tom’s chest. Every breath the boy takes is shallow. He’s not relaxed as much as he could be, but Georg carries on relentlessly, needing Tom to get the message, needing him to understand what they’re trying to say. “Last night, we didn’t care. We didn’t care before, and we won’t care in the future. You’re still Tom Kaulitz. That won’t change whatever you decide. It’s not your sexuality we fell for. It’s you.”

Those long lashes are fluttering slightly but Tom doesn’t look away.

“I like you. We both do. We wouldn’t have stuck around in a band with you and your brother for five years if we didn’t. If you don’t want a relationship, if you still want to fuck around with girls or settle down with just one – whatever – we’re still your friends, we’re still going to be there for you.” He settles back a little, getting into the flow. “Me and Gustav are still going to fight for you against David, still going to make sure that whatever the fuck he’s got you doing stops. We … we care for you too much to let that happen.”

Gustav nods beside him, and stretches out his hand again to brush a gentle finger down the side of Tom’s face but he doesn’t seem to notice. The boy stares up at Georg and it’s like he’s trying to read his fucking mind – it’s half way between a thousand yard stare and soul searching and Georg feels exposed and naked in front of it.

He takes a deep breath, carries on confessing because if he stops now, he doesn’t think he could continue. “But… we… It’s actually very possible that… I fell in love with you.” Georg feels his cheeks colour, but he persists, “Actually, I’m pretty sure we both have. But whatever you decide, whatever you want – that’s what we want. We’ll respect your decision whichever way you choose.”

Finally, Tom speaks. “But… you’re together.”

“Yes.” Georg senses that Tom’s not repeating facts back at him; he’s testing something out – trying to see how they react. “We are. But we want you to join our relationship.”

“As… like I was last night?” Good boy, Georg thinks, asking the difficult question. Tom’s cheeks are flushed, but he’s not looking away.

“Yes.”

“What happens if …. If I say no?”

“Then we move on. Nothing changes. We’re still your friends. This thing with David stops. You go out and have sex with who you please, find your own relationships… Do what you want.” God, he hopes Tom doesn’t pick that option.

“And… if I say… if I want in?” The silver in his lip flashes as Tom chews on the ring, but he’s staring straight at Georg, and there’s still something there – something in his eyes that makes Georg sit up a little straighter, believe a little more in the possibility of Tom coming into their relationship.

“Then there’ll be more talking. Rules. There’ll be a lot of stuff like that to go over. You’ll have to answer a lot of questions, but so will we. You can’t just jump into the kind of relationship we have, Tom,” he cautions, “but we’ll be honest with you, and you’ll know what to expect from us and what we want from you.”

“I see.” Tom’s voice isn’t flat anymore, but it’s quiet, and his face is thoughtful. At least he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to pick now,” Gustav says, and his voice is soft still. “Take your time. Think about it.”

“But we need an answer. One way or the other,” Georg adds, and Tom nods slowly. It’s a fair request, Georg thinks. Regardless of what Tom picks they need to know so they can figure themselves out again, put their relationship back on track, heading forward.

Tom’s fingers are entwined around each other, and Georg finds himself speaking to those fine hands. “I don’t want you to pick what you think we want. Take your time, and think about it properly. It’s not going to be just sex. We’re in a relationship, and you’ll be an equal part of it. But there’s… there’s good times and bad times, and we’d be there for you through both. And you’d be there for us.” His thumbs are rubbing circles on Tom’s hands, the bones feeling so fragile under his own calloused fingers. “It’s not gonna be easy… but isn’t it better than fucking nameless girls in hotel rooms and bathrooms?”

Tom’s face goes blank, but his eyes flicker away, and Georg knows he’s caught him hard. He did it too – fucked a new girl or guy every night for a while, and he thought that was the height of being a rockstar until he got bored with it. Different faces, different names, but all he remembered was a vague sensation of pleasure, the rush of orgasm and then feeling empty until the next time. There’s no substitute for a partner, a lover, a permanent fixture in his life.

Tom doesn’t know that yet, but Georg suspects he’s starting to get that way: that he’s starting to wonder if there’s something more than just the physical act to being in a relationship. Sex is good, but without something behind it, that’s all it is. Sex. No love, no respect, no… closeness.

He reaches out, strokes a finger across his bite mark, and it’s dark red, and it’s certainly going to bruise in a few hours. It was vicious, instinctive and dominant, but he doesn’t feel bad about it anymore – it did what he needed it to do. Tom just turns his head away, exposes the mark more, and Georg ends up placing his whole hand on it, feeling Tom’s pulse surge beneath his palm.

“I’m sorry.”


	15. Chapter 15

 

“I’m sorry.” He gives it up as a peace offering, and Georg looks at him with narrowed eyes.

“For what?”

“For…” What is he sorry for, actually? “For… trying to hit you. Calling you a bastard…“ He flicks his eyes over to Gustav. “For shouting at you. Both of you.” Tom’s not used to apologising – the words feel thick and heavy in his mouth – but he needs to say something after all the shit he kicked up.

“Apology accepted.” Georg nods, and Gustav does too, and there’s something warm in their faces, something that’s probably happiness and acceptance but he can’t be sure of it now. He’s surprised at that – that they take his apology instead of waving it away, but he supposes that they must be feeling a little bit exposed after… after confessing everything like that. He feels the same way – raw, vulnerable... confused.

He wants time to himself, to think and consider and pace out his thoughts, but Georg is still sitting on his belly, holding his wrists against his chest with strong capable hands, pinning them down with ease. He feels trapped, bound over by a human body, and Tom is beginning to be uncomfortably aware of how naked he is, every fibre of the cotton sheets pressing into his thighs, his back, against the sensitive skin of his behind.

He bites his lip, a nervous tic he’s had for fucking years now, and he finds himself staring at Gustav, pleading for him to get him out of here. It’s not Georg, it’s him, he needs space and distance and with the other man sat right on top of him there’s nowhere to hide his emotions.

Mama always said he wore his heart on his sleeve, but where will it show up when there is no sleeve for it to be written on?

He whimpers involuntarily, and as soon as he hears the sound coming out of his own mouth, he blushes, feels the heat spreading across his cheeks. Where did his poker face go, the one he’s spent years practising in front of cameras and girls in clubs? Why can’t he find the control he usually has for times like this?

Tom looks at Gustav, hoping the man can read something in his eyes because he’s damned if he’s gonna spill his guts even more this morning. Not after… not after everything that’s been said – he’ll end up saying something he doesn’t mean.

Or that he means too much.

Gustav reaches over, hooks a finger into his cuffs. “You want to take a shower, Tom?” he asks, and Tom could kiss- no. He is fucking _grateful_ to Gustav and that’s all.

He nods.

Gustav reaches over, strokes his fingers across Tom’s intertwined fingers. “Let them go.” He doesn’t want to, he needs something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded and right now, there’s no Bill who can ground, no twin whose pulse he can feel beneath his fingers and beneath his own skin as well.

“Let go, Tom, ” Georg says, and Tom flinches as strong calloused fingers start to unwind his clenched fists. Gustav shushes him when he tries to speak, to say something, and there’s only silence in the room as Tom feels his hands be parted by the other two. “Good boy,” Georg praises and Tom turns his head away; he doesn’t like the way that makes him feel – all nervous and warm and weird at the same time. He stares at the wall opposite, getting lost in the patterns of the wallpaper as he feels the cuffs briefly tighten then fall away as Gustav takes them off.

He doesn’t know how he can tell it’s Gustav but he knows it is even if he can’t see them. There’s just something so steady and precise about the movements and Georg’s hands are warmer, he thinks, as he feels them rubbing at his wrists, making sure there’s no damage.

They’re taking care of him, just like they promised.

“Tom,” Gustav calls, and he doesn’t want to look away from the wallpaper. It’s too much, too soon, and the stroke down the side of his neck nearly breaks him, nearly makes him want to turn over and talk and ask questions and get answers for questions that he’s been avoiding for fucking years now. “You’re okay, Tom,” Gustav says quietly.

The bite in his neck throbs in time to his heartbeat and he wonders just what part of him is meant to be okay.

“I’m going to get up now, Tom,” Georg says and his voice is quiet too. Tom nods, his eyes fixated on the wallpaper opposite. He doesn’t want to look around, the wallpaper doesn’t have a question in its eyes, doesn’t have expressions and emotions, and it really doesn’t make him hot and feel weird inside like those two.

He feels a rush of air, cool in contrast to the heat that Georg took away when he gets up, and the bed dips as he climbs away. Goosebumps ripple along in the wake of the cold, and a hand – whose, he doesn’t know – trails after them, around his navel, sweeping along the curve of his ribs and his hips, down into his navel and up over his chest too, and the touch makes him start. It’s intimate but it’s not asking anything. It’s like they’re exploring his body, like he and Bill used to when they were still coming to terms with being the same and not the same as children, the curves and lines of being Tom and not Bill. There’s nothing but comfort in that sort of touch, and he blinks hard as he stares at the wallpaper.

He can see a face in it and he doesn’t know whose it is.

“Do you want to shower now?” Gustav asks softly, and there’s two hands resting on his belly, fingers intertwined, and he knows the difference between them. Georg’s hand is lower, warmer, and with longer fingers, but Gustav’s rests against his ribs, solid and firm, and Tom can’t help but roll back into the force as he nods.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

The bed dips again and then there’s rustling as Gustav gets up; the shadows on the wall are too faint to see really what’s going on, and Tom just traces out the face in the green and gold and lets Georg’s hand hold him together.

Minutes pass. He sees out of the corner of his eye movement as Gustav goes in and out of the bathroom but it’s nothing to do with him, nothing he needs to be worried about, and he just rests on the bed, waiting for something, anything to happen.

When Gustav appears in front of him, it takes a moment for Tom to notice. “Tom?” Gustav asks and he can’t help it – he closes his eyes and the shaking starts inside his chest, deep inside, and he’s really cold now, really fucking cold and tired too.

He feels Gustav’s hands on his face, down his neck, fingers resting in the hollow at the base of his throat. “We’ve got you,” he says and Tom wants to believe it.

After everything he’s said and done and they’ve said and done, he should believe it.

But there’s just something… something stopping him. He doesn’t know what it is – maybe it’s doubt because of his past experiences of someone saying they’ll take care of it, maybe it’s hesitation to believe that they can take on David because he’s their manager and they’re just the band, but he can’t believe it like that.

Gustav’s eyes are deep and intense; in them Tom sees himself reflected back twice and he doesn’t know what that means, but he hopes, he fucking hopes it means that they’ve got a plan to save him. David’s sly and quick off the mark - there’s no way they’ll be able to go after him themselves.

“Come on.” Gustav slides a hand under his arm and Georg helps too, and suddenly he’s sitting upright, his head a little woozy. “Careful,” Gustav says, holding his shoulder as Tom blinks from the sudden change in altitude. “You with me now?”

He nods, feels the giddiness retreating.

Georg’s hand strokes down his back, going from the top of his spine right down to the curve of his backside and suddenly he’s fully aware of his nakedness for the first time since this morning’s unpleasant wake-up. Georg is wearing jeans and Gustav is fully dressed, but he’s wearing nothing at all now, not even the cuffs, and he feels heat rising on his cheeks as he looks down at his knees. His hands go to his privates, shielding them from view even though it’s stupid and both Georg and Gustav have seen it all last night and this morning.

When he looks up again, Gustav is looking at him and there’s a little half smirk in the corner of his mouth, and Tom thinks that it’s made up of half amusement and half knowing because he holds out his hand to Tom and doesn’t say a word.

\--

Gustav holds his hand out to Tom and waits for him to take it. He doesn’t seem to know what to do though, staring at it instead of reaching out for it, and Gustav lifts his gaze over to stare at Georg. He has to press his lips together and Georg is grinning widely as they watch the blush climb higher and higher over Tom’s cheeks.

There’s a voice in the back of his head which demands that Tom stays naked for the rest of the day but that’s a little extreme even for him so Gustav just wriggles his fingers instead. “Come on, Tom,” he says and he doesn’t bother to hide his smile as Tom curls over even more, trying to hide his nudity as he stretches out a hand. “Good boy,” he praises again and even though he doesn’t quite get how that’s become Tom’s thing, his term of endearment, it’s stuck and Georg nods in approval when Gustav says it.

He grips tight onto the hand that Tom has extended, but Tom doesn’t look up and he just curls in on himself, trying to appear small, and he’s managing it. Gustav sighs, a soundless exhalation of air, and Georg carries on stroking at Tom’s back, offering what small measures of comfort he can before he leaves.

“Tom,” Gustav says and he waits, needing Tom to look at him before he carries on. “No, look at me, Tom,” he demands when Tom offers a tiny _yes?_ from inside his huddle. “Get up.” Tom shakes his head, and Gustav sees that flush spreading down further, and he reaches out with his other hand, strokes down the side of Tom’s face before lifting Tom’s face by the chin. “No – don’t…” he says and Tom reluctantly looks up at him. “Don’t be ashamed.”

“I’m…” Tom can’t even finish the sentence, looking away at the floor, and Gustav can’t help smirking.

“Naked? Yes, you are. And there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We liked it last night, and we still like it this morning.”

“Fuck you,” Tom bites back but there’s no venom and he doesn’t try to dislodge Gustav’s hand from his chin. His eyes are wide but he’s focused on the here and now, and Gustav is pleased to see it. It means that he’s calmer.

“Not yet,“ Gustav says as his voice drops and he sees Tom’s eyes widening. He wonders if he’s overstepped the mark but it’s too late to take it back now, and he’s not going to let Tom just get away with saying that to his face. Not now, when Gustav clearly has the upper hand. He grins as Tom colours, and he looks away, trying to stare a hole into the floor.

“Bathroom’s ready for you,” he says and Tom nods. When he gets up, Gustav is suddenly struck by quite how tall Tom is – he’s inches above him but Gustav doesn’t really feel all that short around him now. Maybe it’s because Tom is hunched over, or that he’s clinging onto his hand with a deceptively strong grip that makes him seem so much younger and smaller, but Gustav can’t help seeing the difference between the old Tom and this strange new version.

He has a strange feeling that this one is closer to the one that Bill sees – no barriers, no fronting, no arrogance. Just Tom, with his heart on his sleeve and an endless thirst for affection.

He likes it; it’s new to him to see Tom so…. so dependent. The hand in his is trusting, sure that he knows where they’re going, not the other way around. The same happened last night, the trust and belief that they wouldn’t hurt him, that Georg and Gustav could be trusted to touch him like that, take him right to the edge and back again.

That is what convinces Gustav that this relationship could – should – work. He’s seen Tom with other girls, in the clubs and bars, and though he’s intimate with them, though he’s given them kisses and run his hands under their shirts and taken them into the backrooms and bathrooms… he’s always held back. He kisses with his eyes open, never takes off his hats for them, never gives them anything more than the image to hold on to.

He enjoys it, make no mistake, and Gustav’s seen the dopey smile on his face when he emerges from the bathroom, sees the satisfaction when the girls leave his room in the middle of the night; but they never stay.

He never stays.

When Tom was cuffed to the headboard, when he was knelt on the table, when he was curled up in bed between them, he let them see Tom. He spread his legs, bowed his head, rolled over to cuddle close to Georg for warmth and comfort.

Gustav senses that Tom’s not really had a lot of that in his past interactions.

But practical matters first, he cautions himself. Psychoanalyzing Tom before he’s given them an answer would be both a waste of time… and painful. Trying to understand a person as a lover when they don’t want to be one is an exercise in breaking his own heart; not to mention Georg’s. They’ve been there before.

He leads Tom into the bathroom, hearing shuffling footsteps behind him change to light pads when they cross into the bathroom and Tom hisses at the cold marble tile floor. Gustav consciously avoids looking at the two of them in the mirror – he doesn’t know what he’ll see and he’s not ready to face much yet. He feels a little raw after confessing everything – he doesn’t make a habit of baring his soul every day, and Tom’s violent reaction, while understandable, has left a few emotional bruises that he’s very aware of.

“There are towels on the rack and a robe on the back of the door,” he says softly, before indicating the sink. “Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash.” Tom looks vaguely impressed with all his arrangements.

“Organised,” he comments and his voice is soft and raw sounding.

“I am. Georg would’ve thrown you his toothbrush and a half used tube of toothpaste.” Tom sniggers as a _Heeeeey!_ emerges from the bedroom. “It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Shafer!” Georg shouts back and Gustav quirks a lip. So true.

Gustav just throws a middle finger up at the half closed door and Tom snickers again; his smile is small but genuine and his face just lights up. He looks much better this morning, less care-worn and worried.

“Is… is that what it’s like all the time?” he asks, and Gustav gets what he means. The banter, the mock-fights, the constant back and forth between them. They’re very different to each other when they’re alone than they are outside, in the real world.

“Yeah. We argue a bit, and there’s always stuff that gets on each other’s nerves…. But I know that at the end of the day, he loves me. And I love him.”

“But… don’t you fight?”

“Not like you and Bill – no.” Nobody fights like Tom and Bill, throwing dishes and chairs and god knows what else at each other as they scream at the top of their lungs. “Usually, if we have a disagreement, we talk it out. There’s a lot of talking in this relationship.”

“You don’t talk though.” Tom stares at him blankly and Gustav hears Georg stifle a snigger outside. It’s true, he doesn’t talk on camera or in interviews but behind the scenes? He can give as good as he gets when he needs to. Tom’s just not usually privy to his most effusive moments; he reserves them for the bedroom, for sex and Georg.

Maybe that’ll be changing.

“I talk when I need to,” he shrugs. “Usually, when we fight, it’s over something stupid because we’re tired and it’s been a bad day or whatever and by the morning, we’ve made up.”

“But what if you don’t?” Tom stares at him in earnest, and Gustav hears the bed in the bedroom creak as Georg listens in as well. “What if you don’t make up?”

“We’re both adults now. If we fight, we have to come back together somehow, somewhen. Nobody’s going to force us to kiss and make up again; it’s our responsibility.”

“But… why?”

“Because I love him. And he loves me. That’s kind of a lot bigger than a fight over misplaced drumsticks or him leaving his shit everywhere.”

“Huh.” Tom taps his fingers on the marble countertop and he’s obviously turning over this newest piece of information in his mind, adding it to the extensive collection he’s already gained this morning. He shuffles in place, sliding down to a more comfortable position, and Gustav watches in silence as he leans back, his lip ring flashing in the yellowish light.

He’s completely forgotten that Gustav is in the room, or at least he’s not aware of it because he’s just leaning on the counter, hands on the top, beating out a rhythm that Gustav doesn’t recognise as he ponders. He’s absolutely heedless of the fact that he’s naked and exposing himself to Gustav all over again; Tom’s gone inside his own head, and Gustav takes it as his cue to leave.

“Shower gel and stuff is in the shower. Take your time,” he says as he steps towards the door. As he expected, there’s no sound from behind him apart from the endless tapping.

He pulls the door, not quite closing it behind him. Georg watches him from the bed, his eyes worried. Gustav shrugs – he doesn’t know what’s going through Tom’s mind right now, and although that conversation gave him a little bit of hope, it’s still going to be a tough choice.

Tom’ll make his choice. That’s all they can ask of him, to consider what they’re offering and come back with an answer.


	16. Chapter 16

 

He feels naked.

That’s the first thing Tom notices when he comes out of his swirling thought processes. Not the kind of naked from not wearing clothes or a robe, but naked inside. He feels raw and exposed, wide open to scrutiny and analysis by Georg and Gustav.

He doesn’t like it.

He’s spent years cultivating a persona that is what he wants people to see, a face that they’ve come to expect from him. He’s a playboy, he likes girls and women… he’s the aggressor. He does the chasing, the capturing, the claiming. That’s how Tom Kaulitz works; he’s a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy.

Last night, he wasn’t.

He wasn’t a playboy; he didn’t get with a girl or a woman; he wasn’t the aggressive partner. He lay on his back and took what his best friends gave him and he…. loved it.

He sighs, starts to pace as the thoughts begin to swirl around again. The cold bathroom floor leeches the heat from his body but he doesn’t care. There are bigger things to worry about.

He’s always… been curious, wanted to push the boundaries of exploring how much control he could give and take. But he couldn’t do it – how the fuck you do it is something that eluded him for years.

He’s never watched porn of it. He’s never visited a dungeon. He’s never bought so much as a pair of handcuffs. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t chance that he would do something weird. He had to remove temptation, to make sure he couldn’t even think about trying something so… so wrong.

Men are supposed to be in charge. That’s the first rule of manhood, Tom knows. Men are supposed to be the strong ones; if there’s tying up to be done, it’s the girl who ends up chained to the headboard. When it came down to it, there wasn’t a girl in the room and he ended up on his back cuffed to the headboard.

Men are supposed to like girls - rule two, and the second one he’s broken in twenty four hours. He’s always hated that he had that fucking Mars magazine under his bed, that he never got rid of it and the fact that Gustav found it… Now he’ll never live it down. No matter that Gustav said he hadn’t talked about it. It’ll only take one moment of frustration and his secret will come out full force.

With his luck, it’ll probably be live on camera too.

Fuck. He slams a hand on the wall as he passes and the sting from the harsh impact only makes him more nervous.

He’s not just broken the second rule, he’s crashed through it and landed well into the other side. He shouldn’t like men – not that it’s wrong to, he reminds himself. But… he shouldn’t. He’s not allowed – not supposed to like men. He’s supposed to like breasts and pussy and girls. He’s not supposed to enjoy another man’s hand on his dick, pinching his… nipples…holding him down and making him…

He slaps himself. Actually, full on belts himself across the face. No! He’s not supposed to be thinking about it like that. He’s… that’s wrong. It’s wrong to think about it like that – Bill can genderfuck all he wants, and Georg and Gustav are Georg and Gustav but he’s supposed to be the straight man, the playboy the…

The what?

What is he supposed to be? He’s been doing this for two years in front of the fans and the cameras and he’s gotten nowhere fast. Every poster for him is to fuck a girl through the monsoon. Every girl he’s ever got together with is just irritating because she can’t distinguish between what he says and what he means. Every time he goes to a signing, he gets tits and bellies to sign and Bill gets soft smiles and hands and arms.

He wants a girl to look at him and tell him he’s a great guitar player. That she likes his smile. That she thinks he’s a good brother. He doesn’t want any more photo manips of him shirtless or have another girl try to cop a feel of him when he’s tired and just wants to go home. He doesn’t want to have another fucking condom thrown at him with someone’s number and name written on the foil wrap.

He’s never called any of those numbers. He doesn’t remember the names. All the posters he sees during the concert are forgotten the second he steps off the stage. But they keep coming, keep throwing them, making them, talking about them, even if he doesn’t want to.

Nobody’s listening to Tom anymore.

Except Georg and Gustav.

When he was failing every commitment, making mistakes and just in general fucking up in every fucking way, the only people who saw him drowning were his band.

Bill… Oh, God… Bill. Tom leans on the countertop presses his full weight onto his hands as he sucks his breath in between clenched teeth. He pushed Bill away so much that he couldn’t ever see how they would get back to where they were before all this happened – back to laughing and joking and the hole in his heart never existing.

The last time it was this bad, they were thirteen and struggling to operate as independent people. Being a twin is etched onto his bones, down to his soul, and they spent so long trying to be different, all they ended up doing was hurting themselves.

Bill made him promise never to let anything come between them like that again. And yet he did.

The worst thing about the whole fucking mess was that he couldn’t tell Bill he was doing it for his own good, that it was out of love for Bill that he had to hurt him by ditching their movie nights and twin time when David called.

He feels his eyes begin to burn again as he remembers Bill’s look of hurt when he’d gotten the call. Anger. Disappointment. Resignation. He’d looked absolutely broken.

But he hadn’t tried to stop Tom.

He’d hurt Bill, stretched the bond between them to a minuscule fine thread, drawn tight and still being worn away even now. Tom absently rubs a hand over his chest, feeling his heart ache in a way that’s beyond medical care. It’s always been more physical with him; he can feel the connection between them in his very blood and flesh. The last few weeks have just been one constant pounding on him. But there’s no way Bill’ll take him back, not after Tom left when Bill had extended a chance to earn forgiveness. Bill’s second chances are rare as all hell.

He never gives third ones.

Tom wipes his eyes, clenches his jaw tight. He won’t cry again. He’s done too much of that already. If Bill won’t have anything to do with him, then that’s what Bill wants. Tom will give him that space, even if it kills him.

But Georg and Gustav… they took him back from David, made him reveal what was going on, and even when he swore at them, even when he broke down and fell apart and couldn’t speak, they were there for him.

Even if they did punish him, he accepts that he really deserved it. And there’s no way he would have told them without it. David had him so convinced of everything falling apart if he told a single soul that he couldn’t have imagined just laying it out on the table, talking to them about it.

He understands that now. He had to be driven into giving up the answers, forced into a corner before he gave up trying to deal with it on his own.

It hurt.

It still hurts, if he’s honest. His backside stings and he aches all over but he doesn’t feel bad. He feels… empty. Washed up. He’s cried so fucking much he doesn’t know where to begin to put himself back together, but he doesn’t feel like he’ll shatter if someone so much as looks at him the wrong way.

He doesn’t feel strong; he feels weightless, as though nothing could be as bad as what he expects it to because it’ll just pass right through him.

Tom sighs. The air in the bathroom is still, the floor still pulling the heat from his skin, and he’s feeling distinctly cold now. He came in here to shower, might as well take advantage of it. He checks the towel rack – he hardly believes that Gustav’s done all that he says he’s done. It’s overkill, isn’t it -

…Okay, maybe not. Gustav has thoughtfully placed towels on the heated bars so they’ll be warm for him, and there’s even one of his dread turbans as well, so he can dry his hair properly.

The only person who’s ever done that for him is Bill. Everyone else doesn’t even bother because it’s such a weird thing to have. Even Mama forgets when they’re at home, and she’s lived with his dreads for years.

He reaches out, brushes a finger down the baby blue material, and it’s exactly what he expected to feel, soft and real. He feels a lump rise up in his throat. They’re… taking care of him. Properly. Such a stupid, simple thing but… it meant Gustav watched him, understood that he needed one, didn’t ask him but just knew. Gustav is taking care of him.

Just like they said they would.

Somewhere deep inside his mind, he feels a little twinge of longing. He’s wanted it for so long – someone who actually stays the night, who knows what he needs, who understands him. It’s so fucking basic and girly and what the fuck ever but it’s true.

He wants a relationship.

\--

Gustav heaves a sigh of relief when he hears the shower turn on. There was no sound coming from the room for so long that he actually hesitated, wondering if he should go back in and make sure Tom was okay, but he’s obviously still alive in there. Wandering over to the counter, he ends up staring at his hands on the worktop. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now; everything hinged on Tom and he doesn’t like that – he likes to be in control and ceding it is hard.

“He’ll make the right choice, ” Georg says from the bed and Gustav shrugs.

“He will. But I don’t know if it’ll be the choice I want him to make.” There. He’s put it out there. He wants Tom to say yes. He’d even chain him to the bed and make him admit it under the dual pressure of a blow job and a good fingering if he had to, but he can’t and he won’t. He has to make his own choice, regardless of what Gustav wants.

Georg says as much. “We can’t force him, Gus. He’s gotta make the choice on his own.” He climbs off the bed but Gustav doesn’t want to look at him. He still feels raw and exposed – he doesn’t like it. He stares the coffee machine instead and doesn’t flinch when Georg’s arms snake around his shoulders. He leans back onto a hard chest. “We made the offer, ball’s in his court now.”

“I know.” Gustav shrugs. “Just…”

“Yeah.” No words need to be said.

Georg huffs softly, blowing warm air past Gustav’s ear. When Gustav feels a tiny lick on the curve of his neck, he digs back his elbow, feels it connect with Georg’s ribs. “Cut it out, Hagen.”

“Why?” Georg says and that’s definitely some tongue in there, more than last time. “I like it.”

“Yeah, well. Fuck you.”

“You reckon we could?” Georg says, and it actually sounds like he’s contemplating it. “I’ve got lube in the bag…”

“…No.” Gustav can’t fucking… “No! Not while Tom’s in the bathroom!”

“….So you’d do it if he was in the bedroom?” Gustav can hear the fucker laughing under his breath.

“Ye – NO!” But it’s too late – Georg heard and he’s cackling with laughter, clinging onto Gustav to hold himself up. “I hate you so much right now, Listing.”

“No, you don’t.” Georg slips a hand into his and Gustav doesn’t pull away. “You love me really.”

“Hmm.” But Gustav doesn’t deny it and Georg doesn’t try to lick his neck again. He can still feel Georg’s smile against his skin though. “What’ll happen afterwards…if he says no?”

It’s kind of a bomb to drop on Georg and he feels the other man stiffen slightly. “You think he will?” Georg neatly sidesteps the question.

“I… don’t know.” Tom seemed interested enough last night but this morning he seemed much more hesitant. It’s a big step to make to be in a committed relationship with one person, never mind two. Although he asked a lot of questions, it’s not a move in either direction, really. Gustav doesn’t blame him for needing space, but he feels like he’s suspended in time a little, unable to move on until Tom chooses either way. He doesn’t feel like he can trust his own sense of judgement when it comes to this matter. He’s too closely invested in it to make the call either way. “I hope so, but what if he doesn’t want in?”

“Then there’s still us.” Georg turns him around, stares him right in the eye. “We’re good together and there are other subs, other people we will find to be with. Tom could be good for us, and we will be great for him, but we can’t force him. And maybe he still wants to hide his sexuality or not acknowledge it or move slowly or go in a different direction from us.”

“But…”

“But we grew up with people who supported us,” Georg says, and Gustav catches the finger that’s poking his chest. “We’ve made our peace with ourselves about what we want from our partners. He’s years behind us when it comes to shit like that.”

“Yeah. I know.” Gustav does know. He got a soft introduction to it, Georg passing along magazines and websites and stuff so he could actually figure out what the hell he was feeling, what he wanted from his sex life. Vanilla just couldn’t get him really in the mood back then – he was bored with it after the first few times and he spent time wrestling with himself, trying to understand concepts like submissive and Dominant and male submission and how on earth you give a good spanking.

He’s rather proud of his progress in that last area, frankly.

“Finding out you’re a Dominant must be difficult enough. He’s just found he’s a submissive, something he’s been aware of but never understood for years.”

Gustav nods. Being a submissive means challenging a lot of preconceived notions about strength and manhood and about yourself. Tom’s used to being in control, fighting with Bill for the upper hand, constantly taking charge of stuff including his own sex life. To voluntarily hand that control over, and to not one but two men no less, must be a very difficult concept to wrap his mind around. “He’ll come around?”

“I think he won’t let it rest.” Georg stops short of actually stating what he thinks Tom’s answer is, hedging his bets. “He’ll definitely need to talk it over with Bill –”

Gustav snorts. “You mean, Bill will need to talk it over with him?” It’s common knowledge that the twins are wrapped around each other’s little fingers and when Bill says jump, Tom says how high. There’s no fucking way on earth that Bill will let this slide unnoticed.

“Whatever.” Georg is uncharacteristically serious as he stares into Gustav’s eyes. “If he says yes, he says yes. It may be he wants more information, or he wants to ask us questions. You do know we can’t hide shit if he does, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But… I meant what I said before to him. For me, personally?” Georg lifts their joined hands, stares down at them for a second. “I want him to say yes. Last night… was amazing. It was so good for me and I loved every second of it. If I could have that again, I would never stop loving it. But if he says no, I will still be there for him, as a friend.”

Georg’s friendship with Tom is deep – although there’s a lot of ribbing and Tom constantly jokes about Georg fucking up and being clumsy and shit, Gustav knows he respects Georg, even idolises him a little. When they were still Devilish, Georg could have said he hung the moon and the stars, and Tom would have believed it. Even now, he trusts Gustav’s lover immensely. To lose that friendship would be a bitter blow to Georg.

He avoids thinking of the ramifications on his own friendship with the boy.

“But I won’t stop loving you.” Georg’s cheeks flush but he carries on. “Whatever his answer, I still love you.”

Gustav nods. “I love you too,” he says softly and Georg leans in for a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and Gustav feels the trust and the love that Georg has for him in the brief touch. He’s aware that the dynamics of their relationship will change but Georg’s promise to stay with him means so much to him.

A low moan emerges from the bathroom.


	17. Chapter 17

  
  


Tom moans aloud.

The water is perfect, the spray pounds at his back, and he can’t help the noise that escapes him as he steps fully under the showerhead. The glass door clicks shut behind him and then it’s just him and the water.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s got to get one of these for himself when he finally moves out, he thinks as he braces one hand on the wall – the pressure is amazing. He tilts his head back, and his dreadlocks start to soak up the water, turning into a heavy weight at the back of his head that pulls his face up into the light.

The water is hot and steam rises into the air, thick and fast. Within a few minutes, the glass walls of the enclosure are milk white and impenetrable – he’s in a world of his own, locked behind barriers and closed doors from the outside, from David and worries and what will happen after this.

The shower gel is exactly where Gustav said it was, and when he opens it, it smells like… like home. Like Bill. Like a life before this one. It’s old – one he bought before they set off on this merry tour to hell, and it’s everything he left behind, everything he is underneath the image and the baggy clothes and the caps. It’s slick on his body, puffs of white bubbles skidding down his skin to swirl around the drain, and he closes his eyes, lets his fingers glide down over his ribs and his belly in the foam.

He doesn’t know what will happen after this. Things will change – management, people, fans, the news networks. There will be so many questions, so many interviews where he has to tell people what happened between him and the band, and there’s nothing there to look forward to because Tom Kaulitz is the person they’re after, not Tom.

Not Tom.

He’s so used to being Tom Kaulitz, playboy rock star, that last night was… it was like the end of the road for it, the personality of his that he kept cultivating and adding to and editing even after it stopped being fun and cool and interesting. Taking off – no, having it taken off of him by Georg and Gustav – being opened wide... was difficult. It hurt. He hurt, still hurts now... but... it was good. The horrible ache that had persisted inside of him for weeks had been taken away, and he had been....

Stripped down.

Laid bare.

Last night, he had nothing to hide behind. This morning, there is still nothing there; he’s open and raw, exposed to touch and taste and talk whether he wants it or not.

He enjoyed it.

There’s nothing else to say – last night, for the first time in his life, there was no expectation of how to act in bed. There was no unwritten rule he could follow that would guide him into doing the right thing, only Georg’s hands, Gustav’s eyes, and his obedience to their wishes.

He braces one hand on the wall as he remembers the feeling of Gustav’s hands on his face, Georg’s bite to his neck…. Even though he’s alone when he closes his eyes, he can feel hands on his shoulders, his hips, trailing down to his chest.

The water is hot, and Tom doesn’t stop.

Why should he? They saw him last night – took him down into a place that he finally felt like himself, a place where it was just them and him and nobody and nothing else. And now he’s going there again, remembering what happened and it feels good –

It feels right.

His hand braces on the slippery tile while he turns, tilts his head back into the spray. Lips on his, hands in his, eyes on him; it’s like he never left the bed, like Georg and Gustav never left him alone in here.

The only sound in the room is the rush of water and he breathes deep. Another line to cross, another taboo of his own devising to break. What’s the harm? What’s the risk?

What’s the damage going to be?

His fingers are cool against the heat of his belly as he brings his hand down from the wall. He doesn’t open his eyes as he reaches lower, searching fingers grazing against his dick. Sensations. He’s always been about the touch, the feel, the pressure and heat. It’s all about what his body tells him, what his hands can reach, and the kisses he can receive.

He liked Georg’s kisses.

It was strange but it wasn’t bad – it was different – the bite on his lip, the playful encouragement to move with Georg, the need to open and let the other man in warring with the urge to see just how far he could make Georg wait – oh, the little cry lost under the rush of water – and he bites his own lip as he recalls Georg’s teeth there last night, pulling at the silver ring as his hand moves on his cock and the surge of pleasure starts to rise.

Gustav’s hand on his face was new. Every girl he’s ever been with has been all about the image, expecting him to do a lot of the work, and he’d done it too because he figured that his role in all this was to be the dominant person – the one who pushed and pulled and made her scream, and not the other way around.

He draws a careful line between sex like that and… whatever it was last night because that wasn’t just sex. Just sex is pulling up your jeans after slipping the condom off, taking a phone number you’ll never call, kissing her one last time and asking Saki to take her down to the lobby, or opening the bathroom door in a club, or calling Tobi to come and pick him up from a girl’s hotel room.

Last night… was more than that.

Gustav… Gustav touched him, held his face, and made him look into eyes that held fire and honesty, in a way that was separate from the sex and pleasure in the room. It was just him and Tom and Georg and raw comfort, nothing more. He remembers them now, and he can’t help the whimper that escapes him as he feels sparks start in his belly at the thought.

His chest aches inside. He feels slightly faint from the intensity and the heat, and he leans back against the wall – the tile is cold on his heated skin but he presses his backside harder against the wall. It feels fucking incredible against the sharp sting that still lingers, and he can’t help the cry of _“Yes!”_ that the sensation rips out of him.

The steam is thicker than ever in the air and he tilts his face into the spray for a moment. He wants it but he doesn’t know what it is, but the pleasure is building, surging, and he bites his lip against the torrent of moans and sighs that want to come out but he won’t let them, not yet.

He’s riding a wave now and he doesn’t want to stop so he lets the memories run – flashes of hands on his cock, fingers threaded through his, deep soul-destroying kisses. He can’t help the hand that lifts up, drags across his chest, reaches for a slick nipple even though he’s never done this before, and it’s different from last night but no less good, and he moans again.

It’s supposed to be girls with sensitive tits, but he really can’t bring himself to care right now. The electric burst that shoots to his groin is more than enough to make the action worthwhile, and he can’t stop the fact that last night it was the other men in there playing with them, teaching him about what his body could do, what he could take taking up residence in his brain.

He closes his eyes, lifts his face out of the spray, and behind his eyelids he sees the white light burn through the red. He bites his lip as the surge becomes not-quite-painful, running shivers up his spine and spreading heat under skin. It’s almost unbearable now, but the thought of Gustav’s hands on him, of Georg’s eyes on him, of being chained down, is taking over his mind, and he strokes faster, the water making everything soft and slippery, and for the first time in a long time, he’s just pleasuring himself.

He’s missed this.

He leans back, feels the sting again, and it’s not quite enough to push him over that edge into the white oblivion. He moans – what the fuck does he need to finish this?

He gasps out loud, his chest heaving, and he’s desperate to come but there’s something stopping, something that’s not quite right. He throws his head back, arching away from the wall as he strokes harder, reaches down to press behind his balls for that spot, but it’s not working, it’s not happening, there’s something stopping him from coming but there, right there, please – oh….

He slides down the slick wall, his knees unable to hold him up anymore, and Tom gasps as he gently thumps onto the wet floor, legs spread wide, but it’s so much better. The water falls harder down here, pounding into his shoulder, running down the side of his face, and he closes his eyes, surrenders to the sensations and just lets his body tell him what it wants.

He braces his feet on the glass wall opposite, reaches down and pushes with his fingers, and there is it, the place that sends sparks flying behind his eyes. He feels the water falling on his dick and splashing into the rapidly forming pool around him and he moans, and then he finds it, the biting point, the – _yes, there._

White light explodes behind his eyes, and the pleasure follows, sending vivid streaks of colour scattering across his sight as he cries out.

When he comes, he doesn’t think about girls or breasts or women. He sees Gustav’s dark eyes burning into his own, he feels Georg’s lips on his, and he slams his head back into the tiles, his hand working overtime to draw out his orgasm as he stares blindly into the lights in the ceiling.

He fades out to black.

\--

Another moan comes from the bathroom.

“Sounds like he’s having fun,” Georg comments, throwing Gustav a wry smile.

“Mmm.” Gustav’s not really listening, more interested in the papers in his hands as he paces the floor.

“S’up, Gustav?” Georg asks, leaning forward.

“I’m not sure.” Well, that’s interesting. Gustav’s usually got things figured out long before Georg even thinks about asking, but the last few days would throw anyone off their stride. “I mean, there’s this and then that but then this doesn’t make any sense….” He lapses into muttering to himself, still pacing, and Georg quirks an eyebrow. Okay…

“What do you need me to do?” He stands up, waits for Gustav to tell him what he needs rather than charging in like a bull in a china shop. That’s how they work – Gustav has the ideas and then Georg gets to carry them out. Usually, anyway.

“Tea.” Gustav throws him a grateful look and Georg rolls his eyes. Tea. Of all the things he can do – and he’s a very multi-talented man, really – Gustav asks for fucking tea. Typical. But Georg is a good boyfriend, and he makes Gustav the tea, using the pilfered teabags from earlier, and makes himself another mug of coffee because there can never be enough coffee in the world.

Unless Bill’s drunk it all, first.

Leaning on the counter, he waits for Gustav to finish puzzling out what’s going on inside his head. It’s got to be something important if it’s got Gustav wound up like this, but he’ll have more luck getting blood from a stone if Gustav is not ready to talk.

Georg is a patient man. He’s been friends with Gustav for many years now, many, many years, and he’s gotten used to the quirks and irks of their relationship, and he’s long since discarded any attempt to change Gustav unnecessarily, bar one. He will break Gustav of his habit of sleeping in boxers. If it kills him first, he will do it. Nudity is a very German thing, goddamnit, and when he’s in bed with someone, nudity makes access a hell of a lot easier.

Another moan comes from the bathroom, and this time it even gets Gustav’s attention.

“Interesting.”

“Indeed.” Georg nods and he grins as Gustav’s eyebrow goes up. “Want to go and have a look?”

“No. And neither do you.”

Ah, fuck.

Georg shrugs. He wasn’t really that eager to go and have a look but now that he’s thought of it, he has to concentrate on the coffee in his hand to stop himself going to the bathroom door. The sounds from the other room are very tempting, but he doesn’t think Tom will allow him to stand and watch.

Not today at least.


	18. Chapter 18

 

The air in the bathroom is cold after the hot shower, and Tom swears quietly to himself as he steps from the warm stone floor of the shower to the freezing marble tiles of the rest of the room. Goddamnit, he hates the fucking cold. He rips a towel from the rack, appreciating the warmth of it as he wraps it around his chest and wonders what the rest of the day holds.

Now that Georg and Gustav know about David, something will happen. That much he can be sure of – there’s no way that they’ll just let it lie. But what can they do? They’re just a band and David is their manager and there’s god knows how many executives and fuckers like that just waiting for an excuse to dogpile in on them. The only reason they have avoided it so far is because they’re raking in the money and that’s only through David’s help.

Tom’s not dumb. He knows just how hard David’s been pulling strings and calling in old favours to get Tokio Hotel out there, putting their names onto shows and into DJs' radio playlists. He’s heard the stories, knows that David is pushing them hard, using up all his cards on them. That’s why he agreed at first; he just wanted to repay that debt. When David had started talking about his image not being strong enough, not being ‘lived up to’, he had shrugged and gone along with the editor of Bild’s plan to produce some candid stuff.

Not to mention that the extras David offered him were pretty damn fine, in his opinion; girls, women, free booze, maybe even some pot if he got the chance. Tom had liked the thought of it at first; he got to actually live the shit he had to come up with in interviews, he was seventeen and horny, he didn’t really have the time to woo a girlfriend even if he wanted to but when they were throwing themselves at his feet… who was he to say no?

And then it got harder. Harder to say no, harder to keep up the charade, harder to stay together and function after a night out. He started to struggle because when he wanted to call it quits at eleven, David was only getting started. He wanted Tom out till one, two, three… Soon it was getting to the point where he was rolling in the door at four in the morning and Saki was waking him up to leave at six.

He started sleeping through rehearsals, sound check; catching naps on the couches in the green room. He stumbled through interviews, fumbling with easy questions and having to rely more and more on Bill’s help to cover.

And then it got even worse.

David started invading Twin Time.

Twin Time was sacrosanct. It was their time to relax, kick off their stupid TV personas and go back to being just Bill and Tom. Not Bill and Tom Kaulitz, not Bill and Tom from Tokio Hotel, just Bill and Tom and nothing more. They might watch a film, or muck about on the internet or just order a whole fuck-ton of room service and spend the entire night messing around with lyrics and chords and notes.

So when David started pushing into that, sending him texts and ordering him to meet Saki in the lobby of the hotel or outside the bus, it wasn’t cool. Not cool at all because that was Twin Time and Twin Time was their time.

Not even David should have been able to get between them.

But little by little, Tom found himself being dragged away from Bill, being forced into the van after a full day of concerts and press and being driven to a club that he wasn’t even legally allowed to drink at, being forced to talk to more girls and more women who only wanted to get into his pants and tell their friends they'd fucked a star.

Sometimes, he wished he’d’ve had the strength to tell David no.

And David kept piling on the guilt because the press, which had been so funny in the beginning, was turning nasty. Like, really fucking nasty. Tooth and claw, ripping him to shreds nasty. People were accusing him of being on drugs, of being a washed up child star, of being a bad example to kids.

And yeah, okay, Tom’s never been a good example. Really. He likes to drink beer and he smokes and he fucking loves fucking. But to see it written in Bild or Bravo or whatever, where his mother can read it… it kind of hurts. Actually, it really does hurt, especially when he gets a phone call from Mama and the first thing out of her mouth is, “Why are you doing this?”

He sighs, swipes the towel behind his neck before chucking it into the corner and takes another one off the rack. He hates what David managed to turn him into.

And that he was able to drive a wedge between him and the rest of his band.

When Georg had started talking about how much he’d fucked up, started calling him out on his behaviour for the last two and a half months, he’d been so scared that he was being kicked to the fucking curb like a dumb dog that he hadn’t been able to help crying like a baby, terrified of the rejection that he had thought was coming because he knew he wasn’t anywhere near the standard he needed to be, that he’d fucked everything up for everybody, not just him and Bill. Georg, and Gustav, they live for their music; that’s their passion and he’d not just messed it up, he’d fucking killed it dead, potentially.

Only Bill knows how many nightmares he’s had about that exact thing happening.

David hadn’t stopped either, not even after Tom had begged and begged for a night off. Not until the night before last, when he’d literally sat on the floor in his hotel room that morning and damn well refused to move until he got the night to himself.

He’d got his night off. Even though David had shouted and bitched and told him he was a fucking child who should just shut up and do as he was told because David knew best, he gotten the damn night off. He’d won. Made plans with Bill, spent all day praying for the time when he could just curl up with his brother on a double bed and relax; he’d been so excited, he’d practically skipped to his room for a post-concert shower.

They’d been twenty five minutes into Sin City when David had called.

And it didn’t matter how much Tom kept sending it to voice mail, David kept calling, kept demanding, and when Tom had finally answered the phone, locking himself in the bathroom and pacing in the darkness, he had just ridden roughshod over Tom’s objections about needing sleep and Twin Time and shit like that.

When Tom had threatened to slam the phone down on him because he was Tom Kaulitz and he was at nobody’s beck and call, David had quietly informed him of the three girls he had selected to be potential girlfriends for Bill and would he like to pick for his brother or did he trust Bill to make his own choice?

He’d thrown up at that.

It had just gone downhill from there – Bill’s face, his angry rejection of Tom’s apologies, David’s smug fucking grin when Tom had emerged into the lobby once again, dressed up and ready to go out. Saki’s hand on his shoulder had been all that had held him together.

And then Georg and Gustav turned up.

Tom sighs again, reaching for the toothpaste to do his teeth. There is a thoughtfully provided blue toothbrush as well, still in its plastic and cardboard packaging. The mirror is slowly losing the veneer of fog that had previously covered it and in it, Tom sees a face he almost doesn’t recognise. Logically, he knows it’s his own but he’s so tired and pale it could be a stranger’s face. His lips are bitten and torn, smears of purple and black under his eyes; he looks like he’s done six rounds with Bill.

And lost.

He refocuses his gaze on the taps and tries not to think about the boy in the mirror. He’s okay. He’s safe. Georg and Gustav are just outside the door, waiting for him to finish in here and then…

And then what?

Tom spits the foam into the sink and turns the tap on; what will he do? What will they do? March down and tell David fuck off but keep bringing on the photoshoots and interviews? Say nothing?

He keeps turning the thoughts over and over inside his head, relentlessly picking at the problem but there’s no solution forthcoming. When he finds himself compulsively lining up the toothpicks in the little pot on the counter, Tom knows it’s time to call it quits.

The robe is on the back of the bathroom door; white and unthreatening. The name of the hotel is stitched in green and gold on the chest and when he pulls it on, he immediately feels the benefit of it. It’s thick and warm, engulfing him in the scent of fabric softener and clean laundry and it’s not familiar in the sense of Bill familiar, or even home familiar.... but it’s… yes...

It’s _Georg_ familiar.

Holy fuck – he brings his face down, sniffing at the lapel but …yeah, that’s definitely Georg. A little hint of his cologne – something from Armani, Tom never remembers the damn name of it – and then something that’s deeper, softer; that’s him and him alone.

He’d recognise it in a heartbeat.

He knots the belt again. Screw it. It’s warm, he’s cold, he likes the scent. It’s warm. That’s it. He doesn’t... Breathe deep. He can do this. He plays live in front of audiences of thousands night after night, he can surely face his two oldest -

He sees a face in the mirror - and it’s his face but not... The pain in his chest surges and he ends up holding onto the towel rack behind the door, barely breathing as his entire chest feels like it’s trying to cave in. He _aches_ inside, and instinctively, he tries to reach for Bill, hoping his twin will be there. It’s like touching razor wire though, and he draws back, his mind recoiling from the pain of touching that fragile bond between them.

Inside his heart, a hole is forming, widening and deepening with every second that passes and he wishes that Bill was here, that Bill could tell him that he’d be okay and that the fucking horror of this whole situation would go away. But he’s not there and the situation is still here and Tom ends up sliding to the floor, holding onto nothing but the dressing gown and inside of him, there’s an echoing silence where Bill used to be.


	19. Chapter 19

 

The door to the bathroom creaks open and Tom emerges, clad in a dressing gown but still barefoot. His dreads are bare and tied back with themselves, and his face is wan and drawn.

“How are you doing?” Gustav asks, and he shrugs. “Words, Tom.”

“Tired. Washed out.” He speaks softly, like he’s afraid to disturb the quiet of the room. But Gustav appreciates the honesty and he gives Tom a small smile as a reward.

“Hungry?” he asks, and Tom shrugs one shoulder. He doesn’t seem to be really with them in the room and Gustav shares a look with Georg. Whatever happened in the bathroom has left Tom more than just a little tired, he’s still absolutely inside his own head, hardly focusing and it’s starting to worry Gustav. Tom’s used to the business, having to push through the fuzz of sleep and confusion and just working, it but right now? He’s stuck somewhere and they have no idea how to bring him back.

“Come here, Tom.” Georg stands up, beckons Tom towards him and Gustav watches critically as Tom doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight; just obediently walks over. Something is up for sure; this is blind, unthinking obedience and it’s not good – it’s showing that Tom isn’t submitting to them willingly; he’s doing it on autopilot.

Gustav waits as Georg sits Tom down in the chair by the doors to the balcony, and there’s nothing. Not a word, not a look, nothing. He’s a little Tom-doll, and even Georg is concerned, running his hand down Tom’s face to see if he gets a reaction but there is genuinely nothing.

Somewhere at the back of Gustav’s mind, he recognises this behaviour and he studies Tom carefully. He’s curled up in his chair, arms wrapped around his knees and he’s never looked quite so childlike as he does now. Suddenly, Gustav is very aware of just how young Tom is – he’s barely seventeen, and it shows; he’s worrying at his lip ring with his teeth, pressing his thumb against his lips and staring out the window but he’s not focusing on anything.

One hand is tucked under the dressing gown and Gustav would bet his spare drum kit that it’s pressed against his heart.

He waves Georg over and he comes willingly, leaving Tom to stare into space. “What’s up with him?” Georg asks softly, and Gustav shrugs.

“Not sure yet.” But Gustav does have a vague clue and he’s pretty confident that he’ll be sure of it soon. “Breakfast?”

Room service arrived while Tom was in the shower; eggs for him, bacon and eggs for Georg but he hopes to tempt Tom to actually eat some cereal and fruit – today is shaping up to be a long day and breakfast is a necessity that he is not willing to excuse Tom on. He hands Georg the bowl of fruit, hopes that his partner will at least get Tom eating, if not talking.

Georg takes it, wanders back over to Tom. “Here.”

“Not hungry.” Tom shrugs and his voice is very tiny.

“Just take it then.” Another shrug but he reaches up, takes the bowl and balances it on his knees. Georg hands him a fork. “Please. Just… half of it. A quarter. Anything.” He’s speaking softly, coaxing Tom like he would an animal.

Tom spears a cube of melon, shoves it in his mouth; chews mechanically. Rinse and repeat for the next piece of strawberry and Georg moves away, sensing, like Gustav does, that he needs his space right now. He comes back over to Gustav, leans in close. “What do you think got into him?”

“It’s like he was after the monumental fuck up concert,” Gustav whispers back, staring at Tom over Georg’s shoulder. “Exactly like it.”

“Ah.” Georg manages to convey an awful lot in that single sound, and he sighs, “Do you think he’ll come around?”

“Give him a little time but…”

“But what?” Georg’s eyes are keen and Gustav knows he won’t just let it drop. He sighs.

“Bill.” The hand over the heart is what cinched it; Tom’s worried about Bill, Gustav is sure of it.

“I see.” Gustav knows the worry he finds in Georg’s eyes is heartfelt. The twins have never separated like this before and not for this length of time. He’d bet anything that Tom is festering on what to do about Bill and it’s obviously stressing him out. He resolves to finish breakfast and see if Tom has made any progress on it before they charge in and try to help.

He watches as Tom eats but rather than appeasing his worry, it’s only exacerbating it. Tom is lost inside his own mind and Gustav is worried about what will happen when he’s in there; last night and this morning have shown him that Tom doesn’t deal well with some things and that he’s reactive and emotional; not quiet and blank-faced.

They eat breakfast in silence, the only noise the sound of Gustav’s paper flicking and Georg’s occasional comments on something he sees in the sports section. Tom finishes the bowl of fruit, leaves the dish on the floor beside his chair and goes back to staring out of the window.

His hand never comes out from beneath the dressing gown.

\---

Gustav is worried, Georg can tell. So is he, frankly. Tom’s obviously not in the right head space and it probably is Bill that’s caused it.

The twins have always been the twins, wrapped up in each other, two binary stars feeding off the other’s energy and emotions and to see them this off-kilter is starting to put strain on everyone else. The entire crew uses them as a barometer of what to expect for the day – happy twins mean a good day, twins who are tired and grumpy means the day is going to be difficult.

When the twins are like this, nobody knows what to expect and nobody likes it. Working in this industry creates superstitions and good luck rituals – from Big Business to everyone touching each of the instruments before the end of sound check to Tom’s favourite brand of guitar picks that must be used every concert; the twins are just an extension of that but it’s confused and demoralised the crew as all they see is Tom and Bill at war with each other.

Georg remembers vividly the fights they used to have when they were thirteen when they really were at war.

It says a lot about both him and Gustav when their first thoughts when confronted with two raging thirteen year olds throwing plates and picture frames at each other isn’t to run away or to break up the fight but to remove all other dangerous items so they can’t seriously damage each other and then just stand back and let it all burn out by itself.

That year was the year from hell and when they finally had the fight that brought them back together, Georg had never been so happy.

But he senses that this won’t be solved with just another screaming match and throwing some shit around the room. For one thing, he doesn’t think that Tom could take that kind of abuse right now; not physically and certainly not emotionally. Bill, for all that he’s cute and sweet on camera, is a real bitch when he wants to be and he’ll dig his claws in and not let go until Tom is well and truly beaten into nothing. He’s in no position to fight back.

For another, he doesn’t think that Bill knows any of this and he needs to know. He’s their singer, their frontman, and he needs to know that David’s been the one who fucked them over, not Tom. He is going to go absolutely batshit when he finds out – Georg does not look forward to witnessing that because when Bill throws a tantrum he can move the planets out of alignment if he tries hard enough. There will be screaming, and crying, and throwing shit and threats of disembowelment with a blunt microphone before the morning is out, Georg is sure.

Georg rubs a hand across his face. What a fucking mess David’s left them in and they’re no closer to figuring out what they need to do to get him to fuck the hell off and leave Tom alone. There’s no way, no way in hell that he’s going back to David’s control. Not a chance. They promised and they mean it.

Gustav touches his arm as he folds up his newspaper. The day is winding on; it’s nearly eleven o’clock and there’s more be done before they can just laze around the rest of the afternoon. Georg picks up his plate, piles Gustav’s on top of it and takes it back to the trolley in the entry way. Over by the window, Tom sighs.

Gustav nods to him, and Georg moves towards Tom.

\---

Outside is grey. Rain is falling, a constant ash coloured sleet that softly strikes against the window and Tom can’t help searching out patterns in the rivers cascading down the glass, even as he wonders what Bill will do to him.

Underneath the dressing gown, he keeps massaging over his heart but it’s not helping; the ache that’s been there the last two and a bit months is growing stronger, turning into a sharp biting pain and he’s not sure what that means. Maybe it’s because something is happening, something is changing, or it’s because they’re pulling even further apart but it’s worrying him. Not even when they were thirteen did it used to feel like this.

“Tom?” He hears the voice in the distance but he narrows his eyes; focuses resolutely on the spire of the skyscraper opposite. If he sits here and does nothing, then nothing else can change. He knows what’s coming – more talking and more baring his soul but he just wants to go back to bed and try to ease the edge off of the pain in his heart.

“Tom?” Gustav calls but he gives no response. “Tom!” A hand brushes against the side of his neck and he jumps, twists around so fast he probably gives himself a crick in his neck but what the hell?

“Wha- what?!” It’s Georg, staring down at him as he brushes his hand against the side of his neck again. His hand is warm and Tom really wants to lean into the touch now.

“Can you come here, please?” Gustav points to the sofa, opposite the armchairs. The blanket from the coffee table last night is laid across the back of the sofa and he can’t even look at it because he feels all weird and his backside is still sore.

Does he want to? “Please.” Georg has backed away, given him some much needed space and he’s leaning against the back of Gustav’s chair, fully clothed this time. Most of Tom appreciates the new look. Part of him remembers last night. Vividly. Yes, he wants to sit and talk and do…whatever they want him to do. Whatever they have to say… it’s got to be worth hearing.

Everything else they’ve said has, at least.

When he’s sat opposite them, curled up on the sofa, he wonders what they want to talk about. He’s already told them everything he can think of about David and the editor and the executives but maybe there’s something they came up with while he was… in the shower.

Blood rushes to his face as he tries not to think about the fact that he wanked off in their shower while they were fifteen feet away. Part of him can’t believe he did that, another part of him is still that stripped away. Tom just shrugs. What can he do about it? What’s done is done, right?

“We need to talk about what’s going to happen today,” Gustav leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees and Georg moves to sit in the other arm chair. Tom nods. They do need to talk about that – where do they go from here. “And the first thing to say is…”

“Bill.” Georg speaks plainly from behind his coffee mug and Tom closes his eyes against the name.

“What about Bill?” He whispers. He doesn’t want to talk about Bill right now. It hurts a lot. Maybe too much.

“You need to tell him what you told us.” Gustav speaks very calmly but Tom senses a backbone of steel there. He’s not getting out of this easily but he has to try.

“I don’t want to.” He doesn’t. Right now, there’s walls and doors and a long hallway between him and Bill and the pain is just about bearable; hearing Bill tell him to his face that he hates him won’t be.

Georg sighs. “Look at me, Tom. You told us, right?” Tom nods again, “Why don’t you want to tell Bill?”

“He’ll hate me.” Tom didn’t just break his second chance, he thrashed it to all hell and back and there’s no coming back from that. He’s lived with Bill every day of his fucking life. If he knows anyone, it’s Bill and he never gives third chances. Never.

“Oh, for the…” Gustav leans forward, fixes Tom with a direct gaze. “Right now, he doesn’t understand. All he saw, all he knew was that you were ditching him for girls and booze and clubs. You never told him why you were doing that.”

“I couldn’t!” What part of that did they miss last night, Goddamnit!

“But he didn’t know what, did he?” Gustav holds up a hand, “I’m talking. Please don’t interrupt.” Tom sits back, unhappy but he has to wait for Gustav to finish, and then he can have his say, right? “He’s only seen what David would let him see. The same thing he tried to make us see and Bill just couldn’t get around it.”

“Like you, Tom, he was too close.” Georg puts his coffee cup on the table in front of him and for the first time in a long time, Tom feels himself craving a hot coffee; one made by Georg. He tries to ignore it. “You two – you were so deep you couldn’t see from anyone else’s perspective, you know?”

He does know. They both have a tendency to get so focused on something, so used to seeing things in one way that taking a step back is virtually impossible. It’s probably a large part of what got them to this level but it’s also very likely what got him fucked over by David in the first place.

He tries to speak again but Georg holds up his hand, “Still talking, Tom.” He scrubs a hand over his face, “I don’t think Bill hates you. I really can’t see him doing that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Be quiet, Tom.” Gustav’s voice is firmer and Tom knows he has to keep a lid on it. He’s ricocheting between emotional and blank right now and it’s not helping. He nods, draws his knees up tighter and tries to hold his tongue against the torrent of words he can’t quite articulate properly.

“Good boy.” He colours at that but Georg carries on. “You’re soulmates, right?” Tom gives a half-hearted shrug – he doesn’t like Bill saying that when other people can hear because it’s true and it’s kind of weird sounding but that’s Bill all over, really. “There’s no way, no way on earth that he will just give up on you if you explain what’s going on.”

“Why do I have to explain it?” Tom knows he’s being petulant but the thought of standing there and explaining this to Bill is a terrifying one. Bill will just look at him and shrug and tell him it’s too late, he knows it. He knows it.

“Don’t you at least think you owe him that much?” Gustav gives him a level stare, “Hasn’t your twin earned that much from you?”

Oh. Well. Now he puts it like that… Tom sighs, rests his chin on his knees. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Yep.” Georg nods. “He’s gonna shout, and scream, and bitch, and probably throw some shit too.” He shrugs, “But honestly? I think David’s one who’s going to have to watch his back.”

“You think?” Georg must be joking, Bill loves David.

“Oh, he’ll go fucking apeshit at him.” Georg looks incredibly confident with that saying.

“But he loves Dav-“

“He loves you more.” Gustav points at him with a stern finger. “He loves you more than he will ever love David.”

“But… David gave us all these opportunities and the gigs and the fucking contracts and the recording studio! He made us! He’s the one who did it all and Bill can’t give that up-” Why can’t they understand it? That shit is more important to them than him; without David they would be nothing, Tokio Hotel would still be performing in bars and shit backalley clubs in Magdeburg and going nowhere fast. Why aren’t they getting that David is the man that made them as a band –

“…What?”


	20. Chapter 20

 

“What?”

Tom stares at them, earnest and utterly convinced of the lies that that coming out of his mouth, and Georg cannot believe this. There are no words to describe the anger that he feels right now, the disbelief that he has.

What the fuck.

He agrees wholeheartedly with Gustav's shocked 'What?' Tom is… there's no way…. “Tom?” He asks, and he sees in his eyes that he really does believe it, that David's got him twisted all up inside about it - feeding him wrong information and lies. Georg really really wants to hit something now. David's got him confused and fucked up inside, and where the hell do they begin to undo the damage?

Gustav is pacing again, his hands bunched into fists, and Georg is slightly concerned. It doesn't take a lot to push Gustav into an angry rage, but when he goes he's genuinely scary like that, and Georg doesn't think David will walk away with his face intact. Not that he feels any sort of pity for the man, but it's the principle of the thing.

“What did I say?” Tom looks lost, holding his knees with his arms, and Georg feels torn between hugging him and punching the living shit out of David himself. He breathes deep, holds his hands in front of him and focuses on them. He has to stay calm - that's his role. Gustav and Tom need him to ground them, keep them level, and he will do that. That is what they need from him right now. “What did I do?”

“What did you do - FUCK!” Gustav is still pacing, and he's turning redder and redder, practically raging. He's angry, and although Georg knows it's not directed at them, Tom doesn't, and he shrinks back into the sofa. Gustav is usually tetchy towards them if they've done something wrong, but this is the kind of anger they very rarely see. No wonder Tom is worried. It's up to Georg to take Tom's attention away from Gustav's frustrated pacing and angry mutterings and everything else that makes him into nothing more than a volcano waiting to blow.

“It's not what you did, Tom.” Georg leans forward, holds Tom's gaze, and he tries to project some form of calmness to stop the boy going off in the deep end. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“HA! You didn't do anything - that bastard!” Gustav shouts, and he slams an open palm against the bedpost. It creaks alarmingly.

“Gustav!” Georg doesn't turn around, but he hears Gustav subsiding a little. Tom stares wide-eyed over his shoulder until Georg continues. “Like I said, it's not what you did. It's what David told you.”

“But…. It's the truth, isn't it?” Tom presses his thumb against his lips, and Georg really really would like to take the back end of the bus to David's head.

He sighs, “Yes and no, Tom. I think he bent the truth. A lot. And lied and didn't tell you the whole story.”

“Whole story…Ha!” Gustav laughs, but there's no humour in it. He sounds utterly cold.

Georg ignores it. “In the beginning, yes. That was kind of the truth, and we knew about it. David did have to use up a lot of cards on us, particularly right after we got dropped, okay?” Tom nods. “But we've been turning that around for a while now; people are now phoning him, rather than the other way around.”

“But…”

“Please let me finish.” Georg holds up a hand. “For a while now, we've been holding pretty steady on turning up the interviews and stuff because of who we are and what we do, rather than relying on David.” It's true. They've started getting bigger and better gigs, nicer interviews, graduating up from just the teenie shows to proper chat ones. Slowly but surely, they are going up in the world. “I think….”

“David lied to you.” Gustav leans on the back of Georg's chair, and if Georg feels a hand resting on his shoulder, he says nothing, doesn't turn away from looking at Tom. “David lied to you because he knew that would be how he would make you obey him.”

“But… David said…”

“Ignore what David said.” The way he says David reminds Georg of the way someone might say shit. “Listen to us, right now.”

“David used that to make you think we owed him. That he deserved something back.” Georg rubs a hand across Gustav's fingers on his shoulders to try to calm the shaking he feels. “He manipulated you.”

“But he made us!” Tom argues, but he's not convincing anyone, least of all himself. “Without him we wouldn't have done half the things-“

“We made us. He just helped.” Gustav is slowly cooling off, and his voice is softer now, less aggressive. “He gave us the foundation, but it's Bill's voice and our instruments that took us from Magdeburg to here - to playing arenas and concerts and getting more press and shit. It's not like we sat around and did nothing, you know?”

Georg tries for a little more reasoning. “Tom, you're seventeen. Barely. He's your legal guardian while we're on tour, hundreds of miles from home and your mother… You trusted him to protect you, and he lied. He forced you-“

“He didn't force me!” But Tom's got his hands over his mouth, and he's rocking in place. Part of him is already aware that he was forced, but they're going to have to work to convince him.

Georg knows how he feels - at least a little bit. They all trusted David, all believed he was a friend and someone who only wanted the best for them. They loved the man who they viewed as somewhere between an uncle, father and best big brother you could imagine, especially Tom, who had a little bit of hero worship for the man who could produce a night in a club with free beer and hot girls with a single phone call. To have that shattered over and over again hurts. He can only imagine what Tom is feeling now.

“He did. He blackmailed you.” Gustav is relentless, and even Georg flinches at the word 'blackmail'. It sounds a lot more illegal when he says it like that.

“Did not.” Tom is quiet, and Georg sees that he's fixed his gaze on the coffee table because he won't look at them. Classic twins disassociation behaviour; when they don't like what you're saying, they won't look at you.

But Gustav barrels on. “He told you that if you didn't go out and get drunk and sleep with women that he would make your brother fake a relationship with a girl, correct?”

“No.” Liar.

“Yes, he did. Didn't he?” Gustav keeps needling, keeps pushing, and Georg wonders just how far they can take it.

“Gustav.” He places a hand on Gustav's again, hoping to make him calm down a little. “Tom, he manipulated you into doing something you didn't want to do - he forced you to do things you didn't want to in order to protect Bill. That is, at the end of the day, blackmail.”

“But why?” And that's the question. Why would David do this? Tom is near to tears again, and frankly, Georg feels like following him.

“I don't know, exactly.” Gustav sighs, and Georg feels a lot of that anger rush out with that breath. “I can imagine it was to boost sales of stuff, and to improve your image and…” He shrugs. “I don't think we're supposed to know. Only David can tell us that, really.”

“But I trusted him - Oh God...” Tom looks absolutely devastated, and Georg thinks that losing the one thing he believed in, the only thing that kept him going through it time after time... that David had his best interests at heart when he was sending him out, night after night, hurting him and driving a wedge between Tom and his brother and his friends.... It must be horrifying.

“Tom?” Georg is concerned because Tom's hiding his face behind his hands, and his shoulders are shaking again - “Oh, God.” He hurries to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around him. And Tom is still crying.

Fuck.

\--

There is not enough booze in the fucking world for Gustav to forget this now; all he can think about is how much he wants David's lying fucking face to meet his left fist.

He's angry. Raging. Furious.

On the sofa, Tom is crying again, undoing any and all of the progress they made with him this morning. He's clinging onto Georg’s shirt and pressing his face into his neck, and Gustav really wants to go over and hold him as well, try to get rid of the damage that David's done, but the anger coursing through him wants to hit something, punch it so hard it doesn't get up again.

He leans his head on the bedpost and tries to breathe deeply.

He can rage against the world later. Much later. Behind closed doors, and with only Georg to watch him fall apart, when he can throw shit and write it all off as being a rockstar and drunk to the high heavens. Right now…. Tom needs him.

Tom needs him.

Gustav knew that Tom was more fragile than he ever portrayed himself as on camera - they all are, to an extent - but he never expected this spun glass version, so confused and soft and helpless. It's his job as a friend to put Tom back together, but how? Where the fuck do you begin to help someone who's just had their entire world pretty much pulled down around them?

Bill.

He closes his eyes. Yes. Bill. They need Bill - the twins keep each other level and secure and buffer each other against criticism and bad press and bitchy managers and shit like that. Tom's been missing that, and as much as they try, they are not Bill. They can't be his twin, his other half, his Bill. Even though they can be his lovers, they _cannot_ be his twin.

That's going to have to be another thing they talk about - him and Georg, but not right now. Save it for another night.

He grips the bedpost, tries to push down the anger and the confusion and focus on what they need to do today. They don't have long before the main event of this afternoon; time is not their friend at the moment. Think, Gustav. What needs to be done?

Bill. They need to get Bill either in here or go to him, but they have to get him to understand what's been going on. He'll shout and bitch and rage, but he needs to know. He deserves that. As he told Tom, he's earned it. And then they need to get the twins to make up, start Tom on the road to getting over this hell and back to being himself. The fate of this band really rests on that. If Bill won't take him back, as Tom seems to think he won't, there is no Tokio Hotel. Gustav really fucking hopes the faith he has in Bill isn't misplaced right now.

Plan. He has to plan how they going to handle David. What tactics will they use? What will their back up plans be? Gustav knows that David is sly and dangerous and he's very good at getting in and out of situations by himself. They can't afford to go in underprepared and lose the fight.

Tom. They need to get Tom calmed down, help him realise that this isn't the end of the line, but it is the end of David. He's still crying, inconsolably, and Georg is looking more and more worried by the second. Tom's nowhere in the right headspace to go charging off to face Bill or David at the moment, but they don't have long.

Right. Tom, Bill, plan. He can do that.

Gustav lifts his head off the bedpost, breathes in again. Time to get moving.

“Gustav?” Georg calls from the sofa, and he turns, sees Tom is pulling back. His face is blotchy, and he wipes at his eyes with his sleeves, but he's calmer now. Georg still has his arm around him, holding him tight, and Gustav nods.

“W-what h-happens now?” His breath hitches in his throat, and Georg's hand strokes down the side of his neck.

Gustav steps over to the seating area, leans on the back of his old chair. “Now? We go and see Bill.” He watches as Tom swallows, but he nods, and Gustav is pleased. It means that Tom accepts that they need to go and see Bill, and that he won't try to get out of it. Georg is silent, but his fingers keep trailing up and down the side of Tom's neck. The boy seems to draw strength from it, and his breathing is slowly becoming softer, gentler. “After that, we plan what to do with David?”

“What to do with him?”

“Yep.” Gustav doesn't elaborate, and Tom doesn't ask him to. He just nods, and Georg rewards him with a soft whisper in his ear of _good boy_. Tom turns his face away but not fast enough for them to miss the rush of colour to his face. He likes it.

So do they.

Georg's fingers don't stop stroking, and Tom doesn't buck them off, and Gustav watches the scene before him with a sense of satisfaction. Tom craves touch, the attention it brings and the sensation it leaves behind; Georg has already sussed that, and as he smooths his thumb over the carotid artery in Tom's neck, they both sigh contently.

Gustav could watch forever.

Unfortunately, forever is not today, and they have to move. He really hates to break the moment, but it's now just turned eleven o'clock.

“Tom?” he calls, and it takes a second or two for him to react.

“Hmm?”

“Clothes.” He doesn't think Tom will let himself be seen dead in the hallway in a dressing gown and nothing else.

Tom looks down at himself as if expecting them to magically appear, and then… “Oh. Yeah. Jesus.” He scrubs his face, and Georg removes his hand. Gustav catches the regretful look on his face before it's smoothed over. “Where's my key?” He looks around, obviously intending to return to his own room to get dressed, but Georg has him covered.

“Hold that thought.” Georg gets up. “Where's my bag, Gustav?”

“Over by the dresser.” Gustav rolls his eyes. “Exactly where you left it.”

“Fuck you. And thank you.” Georg ambles over to his black rucksack and pulls out an armful of clothes. He hands them to Tom, who takes them with a look of mild trepidation. He's probably expecting an armful of Georg's stuff, but when he unfolds it, it's all his own clothes. A white undershirt, blue tent that doubles for a t-shirt, blue jeans… Gustav was even nice enough to include underwear as well. He looks a little amazed - it's even all colour matched because they both know that Tom is very very OCD like that, needing the security of his caps matching his shoes or whatever.

“A hat?” He asks, but Gustav shakes his head. Not yet. Tom uses them all too often to hide beneath, and they want him to be as honest and open with Bill as he has been with them. Georg hands him a soft knit blue dreadband, and he sighs, winding it around his wrist. Gustav wonders if he's clocked what they want from him, but he doesn't raise a fuss about it if he does. Good. One less thing to worry about. “Can I use the bathroom, please?” And there's that lovely little word again - please - the one that hardly ever crosses his lips.

Gustav nods. “You may.”

Georg helps Tom out from around the coffee table, and he disappears into the bathroom on silent feet. Georg stares after him until the door clicks shut. The bolt slides home with a faint thud.

“Bill?” Georg asks softly.

“He's expecting us.”


	21. Chapter 21

  
  


“He's expecting us.” Gustav sighs, “Soon, as well.”

“How was he when you went to see him this morning?” Georg wants to know what they're gonna face when they get into Bill's room - if he's gunning for a fight or prepared to listen, or if he's going to just slam the door in their faces.

“I don't know. Weird.” Gustav shrugs. “I think he'll listen, but I also think he's got a lot to say as well. I don't know how it’ll come out though.”

“You think he'll go for Tom?” They've seen how quickly the twins can devolve into a physical brawl, and right now, Tom won't win on his own.

“Eh.” Gustav gives a noncommittal shrug. “I think if he does, we'll need to hold him back, but I wouldn't count on it.”

“You think he'll just bitch?”

“I think we need to watch out for stuff going flying.” Gustav rubs his shoulder; he got in the way of Bill's last tantrum, and received a metal capped boot to his shoulder for his troubles.

“Great.” He watches as Gustav wanders over to Tom's chair by the window, retrieves the bowl and fork from breakfast, returns it to the room service trolley. When Gustav is tidying like this, it means he's nervous, and Georg reaches over, touches him on the shoulder. Gustav slumps a little. “He'll come around.”

“I hope so.” Gustav leans into the touch for just a second before straightening up. “I like this band.”

Georg chuckles. They both do. They never expected the two little weirdos they met in Magdeburg could ever turn out to be the best things that ever happened to them, but Georg has never really regretted saying yes.

They pick over the breakfast plates, stealing the last of the food, and Gustav fills him in on the day's news back in Germany. He's their go to for information about home when they're on the road and too lazy to look it up on the internet; Georg takes full advantages of it. But even as they talk, there's a strange energy in the air, and they have to work to keep the conversation going. It's like the calm before the storm, and even Gustav is crackling with energy, but Georg tries to keep his cool. He's got to stay level headed for both Tom and Gustav when they meet with Bill because if it kicks off, it'll kick off hard.

The bolt slides back on the door, and Tom emerges, adjusting the headband with careful fingers. He looks much better now; the only hit of this morning's distress is in his reddened eyes and slightly shaking hands.

“Are you ready?” Gustav asks, and Tom nods.

“My stuff?” he asks, and Georg hands him his phone and iPod. “Key card?” he asks, shoving the electronics into his pocket, but Georg shakes his head.

“Later.”

Tom nods, but he doesn't look happy. Tough. The last thing they want him to do is to get out Gustav's room and bolt for his own. Kaulitzes run fast.

“Let's go.”

“I'm scared.” Tom's got one hand on the door frame as Gustav holds the door open, and he sounds like it. Georg understands that admitting that must be hard, and he smiles softly at the boy to reassure him. Gustav puts a hand under Tom's elbow.

“He's your brother.”

Tom takes a deep breath. Georg can practically see him ordering himself out of the door, but it seems to work. He stands up straighter, holds his head up; it's a perfect mimicry of Tom's normal confidence, but Georg looks closer, and he sees where it's failing; shaking hands, the assault on the lip ring, and the worry in his eyes. How often has this mask been used before, he wonders.

Gustav clicks the door shut behind them, and they make their way down the hall; Tom's trainers scuff on the carpet, but it's the only sound. The entire floor is silent; no noise of televisions or movement come from any of the rooms, not even flushing toilets from the floor above.

Creepy.

They arrive at the door, and Tom takes another deep breath. It's probably only Georg's hand on his shoulder and Gustav's at his side that gives him the strength to actually knock on the door.

From inside there's muffled noises - and then footsteps. The door clicks open, and Bill stands there, arms folded, eyebrow raised.

He looks terrifying.

\--

Bill looks absolutely terrifying. That's all Tom can think of as he stares at his brother and not for the first time wonders whether this is the right thing to do. Only Georg's hand at his back and Gustav's at his side keep him from backing away and bolting for his own room.

Even if he doesn't have the key yet.

From beside him, Gustav asks, “May we come in?”

Bill doesn't say anything, just walks away, and Gustav ends up holding the door open for them to walk through, and Georg has to push him to make him move. He scuffs in and waits for the next move; he's not sure of anything anymore.

“Sit.” Bill points to the edge of the bed, and he obeys. He's never seen this kind of calm on Bill's face; somewhere between stone and ice. Perched on the end of the bed, he watches as Georg and Gustav lean against the door, and he knows it's to stop either of them bolting.

Bill stands in the middle of the room.

“What do you want?”

Tom looks at Georg, begging for help, and Georg comes through for him. “Tom has something he'd like to say to you.”

“Oh?” That one word cuts right to the core, but Tom sees Gustav's eyes boring into him, and he knows that he has to say what he needs to now.

“Yes. I do.”

“So say it.” Bill's examining his fingernails, pretending disinterest, but Tom knows that he's listening intently, and he knows this is his last chance; his only chance. He can't afford to blow it.

“I'm sorry.”

“…What?”

He licks his lips and speaks again. “I'm sorry, Bill.” He means it so much, more than Bill will ever know, probably. “I'm sorry for hurting you.”

"You are?”

“Yes. I'm sorry for everything-“

“You're sorry? Sorry?” Bill laughs, and it's not a pleasant sound. “You're sorry? Oh God, this is… You think sorry is going to cover it?” Tom flinches; he can't help it, but Bill isn't stopping. “Why are you sorry, Tom? Why are you sorry?”

“Because of what I’ve done to you.” Suddenly, having it spanked out of him isn't so bad. At least then he had an excuse to cry. “Because of being such a fuck up these last few weeks-“

“A fuck up?” Bill laughs, without humour. “Here. Look at these.” He goes to the bed, reaches down to beside the nightstand, and comes back out with an armful of magazines. Shit. He throws them on the bed, picks one up at random, turns it to a page that's dogeared, and Tom knows that Bill's spent far too long staring at it. “Tom Kaulitz - the porn addicted rockstar.” He grabs another, “Tom Kaulitz - on drugs?” A third, “Kaulitz brothers at war!”

He carries on, magazine after magazine, English and German, and though their English is shit, they know enough to recognise words like drugs, and cigarettes, and rockstar. But he doesn't need the translations - he's seen the originals - seen the German words before the edit, and they're not good; full of stuff like, failed rocker, and drunk, and rehab.

Frankly, though, the pictures are bad enough: him being practically carried out by Saki, clutching bottles of water and near to tears because he was just so tired and so damn cold and he just wanted to go home, or another one with girls all around him and he looks so out of his depth, it's not even fucking funny anymore, or the one where he's standing in a bar, throwing back shot after shot because it's better than thinking.

_Tokio Hotel Split?_ and _Teen Rock Band Feud_ and _Drink, Drugs, Sex and Rock'n'Roll - Tokio Tom Going off the Rails?_ The bright colours and the cheesy quips don't take away from the fact that right there, that's him, surrounded by girls and booze and nothing he ever wants to see again because it's all meaningless.

“Bill-” He doesn't even get to finish his sentence.

He gets a magazine hurled at his face and it's only by sheer luck that he avoids it. “You are a bastard! Everything we worked for! Everything we worked to make, and your need for pussy is killing it! You're killing the fucking band because you can't keep it under control!” His voice is climbing higher and higher, and all Tom can do is try not to sink through the floor with shame.

“It wasn't my choice-“ _Bad. Move._

Bill rears back, looking like Tom just slapped him across the face. “Wa…Wasn't your motherfucking _choice_?!” He howls, “You told me you were going to find, and I quote you 'some damn fine pussy' because you were bored! Even after I let you pick the movie, let you suggest we stay in. Even after all the fuck-ups, all the bad concerts, all the nights you blew me off, I still gave you another chance. I let you back in; I took you back! Where the fuck wasn't it your choice, you … you _cunt_?!”

“Bill….” Gustav says from the door, but all he gets is a hand telling him to wait. Bill is going for the kill and there's not a damn thing anyone can do to stop him.

“Pick a better goddamn lie, Tom. Really. 'Cause that right there? It's one of the worst you've fucking told me.”

“Please, Bill!” He's one step away from going down on his knees if it gets Bill to actually listen to him. “It's not what you think-”

“Not what I think?” Bill steps closer and jabs a finger into Tom's chest. He's never felt quite so small in front his brother than this moment, “I think you blew me off because you couldn't give a shit about the band. I think you don't care that we're this close to being the laughing stock of the industry because you won't keep it in your pants. I think you don't give a shit that you're playing so badly you fuck up live in front of thirty five thousand fans, and that the papers say you have a drug habit.” He pushes hard into Tom's chest and steps even closer. This is the closest they've been in weeks, but Tom would sell his soul to get away right now. Bill shows no sign of giving in though.

“Please-“ He begs, but it's no use.

“Shut up. My turn to talk since you wouldn't talk to me.” The ache in Tom's chest intensifies again, and he struggles to breathe, but Bill doesn't stop. He's relentless, and Tom can't halt the tirade of hatred inflected words coming at him from the one person he swore to protect. “The whole band is more than just you. And we're going down because of your partying and your lack of dedication and everything else you think is worth more than Tokio Hotel. I think you don't give a shit about how much hard work we've put in to cover for you, how often we've had to take over when you've just slept through interviews, every time you skipped rehearsals and soundcheck. I don't think you care at all because you're too busy fucking your way through half a dozen groupies in a bar somewhere.”

“I-“

“Shut your fucking mouth. I'm not done.” He leans in close. “I don't think you care about anything but your own. Damn. Self.”

It's not true, it's not - he did it out of love for Bill, not for the drink, or the girls, or even David. He sold himself to protect his brother, and he wants to say it, wants to tell Bill that, but he can't get a word in edgeways because Bill is staring down at him, and there's no love in those eyes.

Just… anger. Sadness. Accusation.

Nothing he wants to see.

That does it for Tom. He can't breathe, can't stop crying, and he loses it again. Right there, in front of Bill, in front of Georg and Gustav and in the face of everything that Bill's thrown at him, he bursts into tears, and he doesn't know where they're all coming from, but it hurts, everything hurts, and it's true, and Bill's words slice him straight to the core, and he can't stop crying.

“...Tom?”

\--

“Tom?”

Bill doesn't know what to do - Tom hardly ever cries, and this … this is what? Bill doesn't know what to do because Tom is crying into his hands, and Georg and Gustav are looking at him as if to say do something, but what the fuck does he do?

He can count on both hands the number of times he's ever seen Tom cry like this, and not one of those occasions was in front of another person. He looks around, but neither Georg nor Gustav look inclined to come and help him.

Well, fuck them.

“Tom?” He asks again. Tom makes a noise that might possibly be a _'what'_ , and he goes with it. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Oh, God.” Tom makes a strange sound, and Bill feels very slightly worried. “Oh, fuck, Bill.” He won't go in for a hug yet; he doesn't feel like he can do that, but he hands Tom a tissue from his pocket and gets a muffled thank you in reply. It's as close as he can get to an apology right now, but he doesn't know if Tom can tell that.

“What's going on, Tom?” His voice is softer than he would have liked, but it gets the desired result; Tom sighs, scrubs his eyes with his sleeve and his breath hitches in his throat. He wants nothing more than to reach down and hug Tom until it stops but not yet. He needs to know. He needs to understand before he can forgive.

“I'm sorry, Bill.”

“I know you are. You already said. But why?” Bill doesn't want apologies. He wants answers.

“I didn't choose to go out. Not last night. And not the night before that, or the one before that. I didn't have a choice.”

“Who's been making you do this?” There. Right there, Tom looks at the floor. Someone is making him do this - someone that they know, Bill’s sure of it. “What aren't you telling me?”

When Tom sighs again, looking down at the floor, Gustav speaks up. “Tom.” That's all he says, but Bill wonders about the layers he hears in that, and he makes a note to ask later.

“I… Oh, fuck.” Tom almost reaches up to take Bill's hand, and it's such a familiar thing that Bill almost reaches out too to accept it, but he can't. Not yet. He pulls his hand back, shoves it into his back pocket and tries to ignore the hurt in Tom's eyes.

“Who's been doing this?”

“D-David.”

Who? No,wait - WHAT? “David? As in… our David? Jost?!” Bill can't believe it - he's so confused right now because where the hell did David come from? They were talking about Tom, not David.

“Yeah.” Tom wipes his eyes with the tissue again and sighs. He sounds broken, but he carries on, but the words coming out of his mouth don't make any sense. “He made me. Every fucking time, it was him.”

“No. No. No no no no no….” Bill doesn't know what to think - David? Their David? That's not like him at all - he's not like that. He's nice and gets Bill new jackets and gave Tom a new guitar for their fourteenth birthday and got them contracts and deals and shit. Not this. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“David's been the one who's been making me go out. Every night.” Tom sighs again. “I kept saying no, I didn't want to do it… but he kept making me-“

“No. Stop. Stop right there.” He holds up a hand, right in Tom's face. He can't… what… What's going on? Something’s wrong. “Stop.”

“Bill… You should listen to him,” Georg says from by the door, but Bill doesn't want to talk to him right now. He needs to get Tom to stop… stop saying shit like that because then it means that… that something is bigger than what he thought, and David is their friend, their ally in this fucking hellhole of an industry. There's no way he would do that to Tom - to them.

“Bill…. It's true. I swear, it's true.”

“Swear on Scotty.” That's their highest swear - if they swear something on Scotty then it's… It's absolutely one hundred percent true, and they are not lying at all like when they swore on Scotty that they'd make the next label meeting work after they got dropped and they thought the end of their career had come before they even got started. If Tom swears on Scotty, Bill doesn't know what he'll do -

“I swear on Scotty that everything I'm telling you is true.” Tom's eyes are wide, and Bill searches and searches, but there's nothing but the truth there. No hint of a lie.

“Oh, God.” He turns away because Tom's face is full of nothing but the truth, and that means the only adult they're supposed to absolutely trust with everything from STD results to new songs to girl troubles has been lying his fucking face off to him for weeks now. He's pacing the floor now, but all he can think about is how he knew it was Tom who was blowing him off for shit like booze and girls, and now it turns out it really wasn't.

“I'm sorry, Bill.” Tom sounds so fucking small, and that's not what he should sound like, but he does and…

“Proof,” he whispers. Even though he doesn't doubt the truth, he needs to know what proof there is. “What proof?”

“Your phone, Tom?” Gustav says from the door, and Bill doesn't miss the look that passes between him and Tom. Something's going on there - he knows it. But that's for later. David now, other shit far, far in the future when he can actually process it.

“I have…” Tom reaches into his pocket, takes out his phone. “I have the text messages he sent me.” Bill watches in dumb silence as Tom flicks through his messages, fingers moving faster than his own ever could, and then he holds out the phone. But Bill doesn't want to take it because that makes it fucking real, and he knows it's real - the last two months didn't happen inside his fucking head, thanks - but it's… it's a lot to deal with. “Please, Bill,” Tom begs, and Bill reaches out to take the phone.

He almost doesn't want to read it, but he has to because he owes it to his brother. The first message isn't so bad, _“Come down to the lobby - got some nice girls lined up for u.”_ and Bill almost laughs because this isn't nearly what he expected - not as bad, anyway, and it carries on like that for a little while - _“Nice pics with the blonde - great rack!”_ and shit like that, and it's not what he envisioned, but … the further he scrolls down, the more it changes. It gets worse.

A lot worse.

All the nice pep talk turns up less and less, and by the time he gets past message number fifty, it's like a completely different person's writing. There's more swearing, and suddenly there's less talk of girls and more talk of _“u owe me”_ and _“dont you tell me no”_ and _“if i have to drag you downstairs i will so stop pissing me around”_ and Bill feels cold all over. That's not how David speaks to him - that's not how David speaks to any of them in public _or_ private, but when he checks the number it's definitely David's phone number. What the hell?

And then… _“remember your promise to Bill.”_ What… what promise?

“What promise, Tom?” He taps the screen, turns it around to show his brother, and Tom turns pale - paler than Bill's seen him turn in a long time. Not even when they broke the kitchen window when they were nine did he turn this white. He looks like he's about to keel over. “What promise, Tom?”

“Oh… Fuck.”

“What. Promise?” Tom stares at his feet, and his hands are twisting around and around each other, and Bill knows that the next words to come out of his mouth are going to hurt. “Please, Tom.”

“He… he said… That if I didn't go out every time he wanted… he would…” Tom's rocking in place, and that's a sure sign that whatever is about to come out of his mouth isn't going to be good. “…He said, that if I didn't do as he wanted… he'd go back to the executives-”

“And what? They'd drop us?” No way. No fucking way. Not after all they've done - they've got so fucking much to give… They're barely getting started!

“No. Oh, god, no.” Tom laughs, but there's no humour in it. Really. “No. Bill… they don't like your image.”

“Image?” What about his image? He's a rocker with strong punkish tendencies; that's his fucking image. Or something. Whatever he feels like that morning, really. Tom whispers something, but it's way below human hearing range, and Bill sighs. “What about my image?”

“…V-Virgin. They don't like that.” Tom sighs. “They really don't like it. Apparently, it's not… I dunno. Selling or something.”

Ice trickles down Bill's spine. Not selling? Virgin isn't a fantastic part of rock and roll life, but he's made his point by saying he's waiting for love, not lust. Tom and the others, they can take girls and sex and whatever, he needs to wait until he can trust someone to see him properly. The girls love it, don’t they? None of the magazine articles have said anything about it, but to be honest, they've mostly been focusing on Tom the last few weeks. “What do you mean?”

“I don't understand it, but David said… he said the girls don't like it. It's not selling.” Tom shrugs and talks to his shoes, and Bill feels like passing out. “If I didn't go out, he said he could get a girl here in an hour.”

“And what then?” Tom colours, shuffles his feet, and Bill really really wants to hit something now. Preferably a David shaped thing, so he can smack it right in the mouth with a fist covered in his biggest rings. “What, Tom?”

“They'd make… they wanted you to….” He mimes something, and Bill doesn't get it. At all. What the…fingers and a circle, and what the fuck is Tom doing with his hand...?

“A blowjob.” Gustav says from by the door. “Or a handjob. Something sexual, anyway.”

“...What?”

\--

_“What?”_

Bill is staggered, gobsmacked… Absolutely speechless. Tom can't remember the last time he saw him so… silent. His mouth is opening and closing, and a pink flush is rising on his face, and no sound comes out. Gustav's words have silenced Bill, completely, but inside there's a storm brewing, a hurricane threatening to break loose and wreak havoc across the surrounding hotel.

For once, he doesn't think it's directed at him.

“…How dare he,” Bill breathes, and his fists are clenched tight, and Tom eyes them warily. Bill might not be angry at him, but he's mad enough to hit out at the first thing in his way, and those dainty little fists hurt. A lot. “How _fucking_ dare he do that to _me_!” Bill roars out the last part of that sentence, and even Gustav jumps a little.

David's gonna get it straight in the neck, and Tom can't say he doesn't deserve it, but Bill is pacing now and still ranting.

“How very fucking dare he threaten _my twin_ , my _Tom_ , over something that's all about _my_ image! **_How could he - WHY would he?!_** ” Bill's bare feet stomp over the carpet, and Tom dares to slide back a little on the bed, so he's not perched right on the edge -

_Craaash…_

A glass tumbler hits the wall, scatters onto the carpet in a shower of fine razor sharp shards, and Bill still isn't satisfied with the destruction that he's wrought. He lets loose a howl of rage and hurls a second glass at the wall and it's full of water, leaving a darkening smear across the cream wallpaper. He hurls the next thing to hand on the nightstand and Skittles rain down in a bright rainbow onto the white carpet as the bag bursts on the edge of the blind.

He's raging against an invisible person, none of them actually in the room, but they all know exactly who it is: David. If he were here now, Tom isn't sure he'd make it out of the door alive and intact. Bill heaves the water jug over his head with both hands, heedless of the water that spills on the floor, and it shatters with a deafening crash on the wooden window frame. Even Gustav is starting to look worried. It's long past just anger, way into dangerous fury, and Bill isn't showing any sign of calming down.

“He will _pay_ for this!” Bill rants, and he's completely incensed. “I will _murder_ the fucker if I ever fucking catch him!” He reaches out for something else to throw, still raving, but Tom reaches out, holds onto Bill's wrist, and he won't let go because Bill's reaching for the lamp, and it's heavy marble and someone's gonna get hurt.

“Please!” He doesn't need to know what he's asking because Bill already knows; he can tell even from the brief contact, but long seconds pass before Bill unclenches his hands from around the light. “Please, Bill.” He lifts his other hand, and Bill grabs it, holds onto it to it tight, and it's so damn good because the pain in his heart is fading faster than he can remember it, and Bill presses his head to his midriff and holds him close.

“Tom, Tom, _Tom_.” He whispers, and there's too much there in those words for anyone else to get, but Tom knows.

They're not perfect; there's still so much to tell and talk about and give, but they're more than half way there, and he feels like he's in freefall because he's back with Bill, and they're a team again. “Bill. Bill. Bill.” He whispers, and he gets a stroke across the back of his neck, and he knows that Bill got everything Tom meant with those words.

It's _Bill_ , and they're close again, and he's finally free of the ache that's followed him for weeks, and he can't help the tears that fall, but he hears them in Bill's voice too as he asks, “Why, Tom?” and he shakes his head. “Why didn't you come to me?” Bill asks, and he draws up Tom's face, forcing him to look up into eyes that are identical to his own. “Why didn't you tell me what was happening?”

“I thought he'd make you do it,” Tom whispers, and Bill closes his eyes at the response. “I thought he'd force you into it, and I know… I know how much it means to you.”

“I wouldn't have done it.” Bill speaks to the wall over Tom's head, but his words don't make sense - “I would have said _fuck no-_ “

“Bill, he made us. You can't just say no to that -“ Bill just isn't getting it, but Tom knows he will soon enough because it's … it's true, isn't it?

“Oh, Tom,” Bill sighs, wiping his eyes. “You're an idiot, you know?” _What?_ Tom's confused, but Bill laughs so softly he knows it's meant only for his ears. “I love you, really. But you're an _absolute idiot_.” What the hell is Bill on about - but now Bill's kneeling in front of him, holding his hands and staring at him in earnest. “I could have said no. It would have been blackmail or something and he's just our manager. _Just_ our manager.”

“But he made us-“

“We made us. You and me.” From behind them Georg says _OI!_ And Bill chuckles. “And them too. We made us together, and David might have used up a lot of cards on us, but he's also got them back in reams.” He grins at Tom's look of utter confusion. “He's spent on us, but he's made back way way way more. And that's why we can say _no_.”

“But… but the executives!”

“Are a bunch of ass-grabbing, ass-licking dickwads. They're there to make us conform, and what do we not do?” Bill pokes him in the chest with a finger. “What's the one thing we don't do, over everything else?”

“…Abandon each other?”

“Ye- Well. Beside that.” Behind Bill, Tom sees Georg stifle a snicker. “We don't _conform_. Not to suits from the label, not the fans' expectations, not to _David_.” He sighs. “Oh, Tom… I would have just told David to fuck off and take the girl with him. Not slept with her.”

“Oh.” Oh. Tom feels very stupid right now.

“What did Georg and I tell you?” Gustav asks, and Tom can see them both smirking as they lean themselves on the door frame, relaxing now there's no chance of anybody bolting. “David can't make Bill get it up for her…”

“Fuck off.”

“Nope.” Georg shrugs at Tom's hasty refute of Gustav's statement. “We're staying right here, Tom.”

“Look at me. _Look at_ \- thank you. Trust me, Tom. The worst thing that could have happened would have been a really awkward dinner date.” Bill draws Tom's attention back down, and there's nothing but truth and honesty in his eyes. “I wouldn't do that with any girl just because David wanted me to - just because some dicks in suits wanted some candid stuff. I'm seventeen, not seven, and I can make my own decisions.”

Tom can't help staring because this… this isn't his Bill in front of him. This Bill is calm and logical and treating him like he's done something wrong, and even though Tom gets where he's coming from, he was just trying to protect Bill from it. He says as much.

“I know you were.” Bill stares up at him. “I know you did what you did to protect me, and I love you so much for it, but… it scared me. I didn't know what you were doing. I didn't know why it was happening, and it hurt.” He presses their combined hands against his heart, and suddenly Tom is stricken by the thought that he's spent so much time and effort trying to protect Bill from David when instead, it's been a lot of his own fault that Bill's been hurting. “I was so afraid and angry because you wouldn't talk, and I couldn't find you.”

_“I'm sorry.”_ It feels like he's been saying it far too much today - Tom Kaulitz doesn't apologise to anybody, thanks, but he has to say something for all the hurt he's caused to Bill and everyone else. He thought he was doing the right thing, saving everybody, but… Georg and Gustav are staring at him, and he knows that it's truth in their eyes when they nod with Bill's words, and he knows he hurt them by pulling away, but he's yanked the heartstrings that connect him to Bill so much harder.

Bill stands up, and draws him up from his seat as well, and Tom rises reluctantly. Tom half wonders if Bill is going to punch him but… Firm, strong arms are wrapped around him, pressing his face into Bill's shoulder, and he sighs gratefully. This is… old. Familiar. It's comforting. He's had so many new feeling last night and this morning, so many revelations, and this is as close to coming home for him that he can have because it's the first thing he can remember knowing ,and he knows it's exactly where he needs to be.

Georg and Gustav… they're amazing, and he doesn't know what he wants from them, but he's leaning towards _more_ and _better_ and _let me in_ , but they can't be his Bill. They're not his twin. His fingers wind their way into Bill's shirt, and he feels the pulse under Bill's skin thrum strong and deep inside of him.

“You worried Mama,” Bill whispers into his ear, and Tom grunts. He knows. She's been texting so often he's given up replying because there's nothing he can say to adequately answer her extremely reasonable questions or her hysterical answerphone messages that she's filled up his voice mail with that all end with _I love you, Tom. Please, please, let me in_. “What will you tell her?” Tom shrugs. He doesn't know. He's not in control of this - he's just along for the ride, spilling his guts when he's told to, and he can't find the energy or the reason to object. He's sick of holding tight onto control and keeping it all inside, but he's too afraid to reach out until someone reaches out to him first. First Georg and Gustav, then Bill… then whoever stretches out an olive branch to him first.

If it's Mama, he'll have to do it regardless of how he feels. She's his Mama, and he can't hide from her forever.

“You do need to talk to your mother.” Gustav smiles wryly at Tom's slumped shoulders. Mama's his mama, but… she's a lot like Bill when she's angry. He should know - living with them both for years. “And don't look like that. You know you do.”

Tom doesn't have an answer for that, so he sticks his middle finger up at them, and Georg replies equally childishly with two.

Gustav just raises an eyebrow and mouths something at him… _what_ is he saying…

_Bad boy._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaan, so close to the end...

_Bad boy_. Gustav mouths the words at Tom, and he takes great delight in watching the pink bloom across his cheeks even as he winds his fingers back into Bill's t-shirt and turns his face away from him and Georg. He closes his eyes as the pink is soft and sweet on his face.

Shyness surprisingly suits him.

Maybe it's because this isn't the Tom they normally get to see, one without shields and fronting and posturing, but seeing Bill wrapped around him, holding him tight, running a hand down his back, they're seeing a new Tom, a different one. Bill though - he seems familiar with this side of Tom, knowing just what to do - just what he's thinking, and Gustav is, for a very brief moment, envious of that effortless closeness. So few words passed between them, but they speak with hands, and hugs and the tiniest whisper, and it's beyond what Georg and Gustav can ever share with Tom.

It passes quickly though - he remembers last night and how easily Tom submitted to them, and that's something that Bill doesn't know about Tom. Not properly like them. Spread legs, arched back, eyes as dark as tiger's eye with desire sparking behind… How he begged, how he cried, how he watched as they took their pleasure before giving him his own, it was so good. _So fucking good_.

He turns to Georg, grinning and he knows that his partner has gone right back to last night as well and they share a heated gaze for a few seconds. God, the memories alone will be enough to satisfy him for days to come.

Bill is whispering something in Tom's ear, a manicured hand stroking around the back of Tom's head, and he's nodding, though he doesn't look happy about it. Clearly, that's something they need to talk about together, but Gustav's constantly aware of the time ticking by, and he clears his throat. “Guys?”

“What?” He can't be sure which twin responded - Bill faces away from him, and Tom is back to burying his face in his brother's shoulder, but he carries on regardless.

“We need to prepare for David.”

“Ergh.” Now that was definitely Tom, and Bill chuckles as the two of them slowly detach from each other. It escapes nobody's notice that Tom's hand is clutching Bill's, and Bill doesn't seem inclined to let go at all. Bill's eyes are challenging, asking them to make a point of it, but Georg and he have bigger problems than the twins being touchy feely. After five years, they've more than gotten used to it.

“We need to decide what we're gonna do with David.” Georg leans on the edge of bed as Bill pulls Tom to sit beside him at the head of it. Gustav props himself on the other bedpost, resting an elbow on the flattened top of it, and carries on. “We need a plan to tackle him because he…”

“He's fucking manipulative,” Bill says, decisively. “He's sly and manipulative, and he's gonna be expecting a fight.”

“Yeah. He is.” Georg nods. “He will have realised something is up already because he called up about Tom last night.”

“He called you?” Bill asks, and when Gustav nods, he just says, “I see.” Bill might not say anything more, but Gustav sees the eyebrow go up, and he knows that the younger boy has clocked something. Tom might be slow on the uptake, but Bill is faster than anyone else Gustav knows.

“Yeah,” Georg carries on. “He called us up, got on his fucking high horse about Tom not going out like he wanted, got real pissy when we told him to fuck off because Tom was asleep-“

“In your bed?” Bill probes, but he's got a spark of mischief in his eyes, and Georg knows he's just poking fun, but Tom takes it seriously.

“ _Bill!_ ” Tom throws his head back and groans, as Bill grins. “ _Shut up!_ ”

“I'll find out later.” Bill promises with a firm voice, and Tom grabs for a pillow, shoves it over his face as he falls over backwards, refusing to talk to or look at his brother. “….Mature, Tom.” He rolls his eyes at Gustav who just raises an eyebrow back at him.

Something muffled emerges from under the pillow, but the finger that Tom waves in Bill's face says it all, really. Bill retaliates by digging his fingers into Tom's sides, and there's a shriek that emerges from under the pillow, and Tom kicks his legs, and suddenly, the air is clear of everything bad. They're just two brothers, play fighting as Tom tries to get the upper hand over Bill and rolling around on the bed without a care in the world.

Georg looks at Gustav, and they both grin at each other. That not-so-insignificant twin bond has been restored, and although it'll need fine tuning over the coming days, it's back and stronger than ever. The crew will be pleased, and it's one thing to cross off their list of things to do today.

Predictably, it ends when they both threaten to tip over the edge of the bed, giggling like idiots, and Gustav clears his throat. “Are you finished?” They look up at him with slightly guilty expressions that mean nothing because the laughter they're trying to hold back threatens to come bursting out of them both any second.

Tom readjusts his dread band with shaking fingers, but his grin is wide and real for the first time in a long time, wide and bright eyed, and he reaches round to grab for Bill's hand again. They're both flushed, but the energy in the room isn't threaded with tension anymore, it's focused and sharp, and Gustav can practically taste the anticipation for David's blood. Bill moves to sit cross legged against the mountain of pillows, dragging Tom with him.

“What are we gonna do though?” he asks, and Gustav feels pleased that he's asking them rather than just jumping in with a plan of his own. Tom's too eager to push forward sometimes; he often acts without thinking, and they want to change that, bring him back to a place where he can rely on others as well to make the plan or decide on a course of action. He's part of a team, not a one man band, and at least for now, Gustav thinks Tom is starting to remember that.

“Well….” Bill leans forward, digs his hand through Tom's pocket to grab at his phone. “We have evidence, don't we?” He waves the item around, and they all nod. They have the voice mail messages, and the texts-

“And emails.”

“What?” Gustav looks at Tom who shrugs, looks down at his and Bill's joined hands. “Say again, Tom?”

“Emails. He sent me a lot of emails.”

“What's in the emails?” Georg leans his chin on his braced arm on the bedpost, but his relaxed pose is at odds with his firm voice.

“Dunno. Same sort of stuff as the texts, really.” Tom shrugs again, mutters something that they can't hear. Bill strokes his thumb across Tom's cheek, and there's a sigh from both of them. “And the magazine prelims.”

“ _…What?_ ”

Tom looks up at Gustav, and he bites his lip as he sees the expression on his face. “The editor sent David the preliminary covers and articles about me for commenting and stuff.” He looks down before carrying on. “He kept sending them on to me after scanning them in and writing shit on them.”

“ _Really?_ ” Bill looks furious, and Georg steps in before he can blow up again.

“So we've at least got the editor - who knew it was all a setup at the end of the day, right?”

Tom nods, but Bill is getting up, reaching down the side of the bed for something… He emerges with his laptop, already up and running, and he hands it to Tom. “Show me.” Tom says nothing, and with a few clicks and key taps, they're all staring at the prelims for the cover of BILDE's latest - and as yet, unpublished - issue.

It's Tom again, being barely held up by Saki, clutching a pint glass that's spilling down his arm and tears running down his face as a second body guard reaches for him. It doesn't look bad - it looks appalling. Georg shakes his head when he sees, and Gustav wants to be sick. Or punch David, but neither's a new feeling these days.

Bill's hands go to his face, and he looks shocked. Tom is pressing his thumb to his teeth again and he's turned away. It must be god awful being confronted with the worst part of yourself like that - and to know that was going out across Germany…

“Oh, _Tom_.” Bill breathes, and Tom flinches.

“Please don't.” He says, but his voice is soft and small, and he sounds very fragile right then. Gustav itches to reach out, to touch him, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Georg stuffing his hands into his pockets, probably to prevent the same thing happening.

It looks terrible. That is a PR disaster right there; Tom's obviously way over the limit, emotional and distressed, and even in the still image, Gustav can see the worry and frustration in Saki's eyes and hands through the forest of boom mics and cameras.

Maybe it's not a career killing picture, but it's pretty damn close.

Gustav knows what kind of a drunk Tom is, and it's not a teary hot mess like what's on the screen. He's a funny drunk, all compliant and giggly and fall over and laugh about it. Both twins are, really, and it doesn't take a lot to get them that way - a few shots, or a couple of pints, and they're gone. But Tom is not a morose, teary drunk like he's seeing right there, and that means something went horribly horribly wrong. The date on it is for next week - which means the picture is recent. Gustav can't be sure, but he's fairly certain he recognises the green cap and shirt from the night of the shitty concert.

No wonder Tom was crying.

“Jesus, Tom,” Georg says, and the boy flinches, draws up his shoulders - all defensive behaviours because really - there's not much of a defence against that, is there? “Why didn't you come to us sooner?”

“Don't. Georg, please don't.” Bill holds up a hand to Georg, and the twins seem to draw closer together, wrapping around each other without even moving. Bill is protecting Tom, but Gustav isn't even sure if they're even properly aware of it. “He's come to us. Let's leave it at that for now, okay?”

“For _now?!_ ” Tom looks at Bill, and he gets a hard stare in return. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Indeed.” Bill moves the mouse, clicks off the image, and the tension in the air seems to lift as the pictures go away. “So we got David and the editor.” He's obviously trying to move on, and while it's not subtle, it gets the point across. _Change the subject, now_.

Gustav grunts in agreement. David's looking a lot of very hard to dispute facts and so is the editor - the big red scrawl of _'I like this, but I want more like it'_ from the editor, and David's answering green scribble of _'I can get you that'_ kind of land both men in it feet first, but what about the others?

Georg nods, thoughtfully… “We do have them bang to rights. And we have Tom, who's _finally_ speaking out.” Tom looks away,and Bill sighs, rubs his thumb across Tom's knuckles as Georg continues. “So what do we need?”

“I don't follow.” Tom looks up at them, completely confused.

“What's our objectives? What do _we_ ,” Gustav points to each of them in turn, “want from _them_? Money, different contracts, being released from the label - what are our goals?”

“Oh.” Tom looks a bit dazed - “We're really doing this?”

“Yep.” Gustav is firm; this is happening, and Tom's coming along with it come hell or high water. “We're going blow David and his cronies right out of the water, but we have to be prepared.”

Bill reaches out, grabs a notebook from the bedside table - the one he didn't pick for ammunition and slides the pen out from the wire coil at the top. He scrawls across the top line: _Plan to ~~kill~~ stop David and execs_. “What do we want?” he asks, and Gustav looks at Georg.

They've got a few ideas…--


	23. Chapter 23

The lift doors shut with a whisper, and Tom reaches for Bill's hand.

Twenty minutes ago, they finalised their plan to get David, and Bill disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed and put on his make-up, vanishing through the door trailing jewellery and jeans behind him, leaving Tom alone in the bedroom with the other two.

There had been a moment where he didn't know what to do then - being left alone with Georg and Gustav hadn't felt awkward, but he'd felt off set and confused by their proximity after everything that had been said and done until Gustav reached out.

The hand on the back of his neck had been different than Bill's - firmer, with calluses and shorter fingers, but it grounded him in a way that he'd never been before. He was still in the room, and Gustav's touch had kept him calm inside. Normally, he'd have been pacing, working himself up, but he had been suddenly content to wait under Gustav's heavy touch, just enjoying the sensation of Gustav's finger brushing across the hollow behind his ear.

He hadn't even noticed when Bill emerged from the bathroom.

Only when Gustav lifted his hand away did he become aware of Bill's presence in the room, leaning over the bed to collect the laptop, and he had been almost worried as to what his brother would say.

But Bill didn't say anything.

Here and now in the lift though, he can see Bill's face in the mirrored doors, all made up and china doll calm. The ring in his eyebrow is black, and so is everything else he's wearing - he looks dark and dangerous now. The laptop bag clutched in his other hand holds most of their evidence against David, and Bill's knuckles are white as he grips the handle tighter and tighter.

Tom switches his gaze from Bill to Georg, and he gets a calm smile in return; Georg is relaxed and loose, and Tom wishes he could be as sure of their victory over David as him. He just doesn't think they'll win as Gustav seems to think they will, but he has to…

_Trust._

Gustav and Georg keep trying to get him to do that, and he wants to, but… but he can't. It's something stupid and dumb stemming from the hell-hole that was school after they got separated, but he stopped trusting people after that; stopped believing stupid promises even if they came from people who he knew and loved.

Not even Mama could keep him and Bill together, even though she promised.

But Georg and Gustav are different - they're not just saying it. He can see something in their eyes - resolve and determination and something else as well - something that makes him want to believe in them. When the doors open with a ding and another whisper of smooth metal gliding apart, he's made up his mind.

This is a test. Can they save him?

If they can, that's yet another reason to trust them, to agree to their proposal. If they don't… he doesn't know what he'll do. But it won't be good.

Bill can't hold his hand out here, David doesn't like it because of what people say, but he feels a brief brush of fingers across his knuckles, and that has to tide him through until later, after all this hell. Tonight, he gets the feeling he and Bill will sharing a bed again, and damn what people say. They need to dream the same dreams again.

They stride across the lobby, past the receptionist desk, and everyone gives them a wide berth - it's a rare moment that they're not travelling accompanied by a string of bodyguards and management, and Tom kind of misses Saki's presence by his side. Six feet and one hundred and seventy pounds of protection comes in handy at times. Outside the windows though, there's only a few fangirls - the most hardcore and dedicated ones who they're starting to learn by name and face.

That's a scary thought, sometimes.

But all too soon they're standing outside Conference Room A's doors, and Bill throws them both open and struts through them, leaving Tom to trail in his wake with Georg and Gustav.

Show time.

\--

Inside the conference room, David sits at the table, talking to the editor while on either side of him the two executives wait impatiently for something, glued to mobile phones and pagers as they write stuff on notepads, and Tom winces at the reams and reams of papers that probably mean more shit for them to do. They tap their pens and huff impatiently.

Screw them. They're rockstars, Tokio Hotel. They turn up when they like.

“Morning, everyone!” David's voice is cheery and bright, and all Tom can hear is the cool tone from last night when it told him to either shape up to come downstairs to go to the club or ship out, and leave Bill to be forced into a relationship with a girl, and would he like to choose? He feels the corners of his mouth pull down before he can replace his poker face that months in front of the camera have hammered into shape for him.

Saki nods to each of them from where he's propped by the window, flicking through a sheaf of papers. Probably the security instructions for the next venue, but now there's no guarantee that they'll even get there anymore. He hopes they will though. There's nothing quite like playing to thirty thousand fans - the adrenaline, the beats under his skin, the guitar under his fingers like an old friend. He'd practically die if he had to give that up.

“Hi, David.” Bill's voice is flat and cold, and he kicks a chair out from under the table with ill-disguised aggression.

“David.” Georg and Georg answer as one as Tom feels a hand on his arm, guiding him towards a chair next to Bill's. He sits, and Georg slumps down into the chair beside him, rolling it backwards and forwards while David stares in bemusement at them.

When Gustav finally sits himself down, David raises an eyebrow, asking, “So boys… What did you call all of us here for?”

Georg touches his arm again, and Tom takes a deep breath. He slides his phone across the table to David and waits for the reaction.

David looks puzzled but then.. “…Tom, we talked about thi-“

“Talked about what, David?” Georg snaps. “Be clear for the rest of us.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” David slides the phone back over to Tom, but he overshoots, and Tom ends up with a phone to the chest before he can react. “Sorry, To-“

“Oh, David. I think there's a lot to talk about.” Gustav's voice is light, and Tom really wonders where he gets his poker face from because it's _way_ better than his own. “We all know.”

“Know what?”

“Oh, give it up, David.” Bill leans forward, and his face is cold and closed off. “We all know what you've been doing to Tom.”

“…What?”

“We all know what you've been doing to Tom.” Georg sighs, “Don't play the innocent card, David. We've seen the texts, seen the articles and the prelims as well.”

“…You're mistaken.”

“No we're not,” Bill says, and he points at Tom. “He told me. And he doesn't lie to me.” It's true. He's obfuscated, misdirected, flat out refused to respond and begged for forgiveness in place of answering, but he has never lied. Not outright.

David licks his lips and Tom knows they've got him. He's nervous and probably going to try to damage control the situation now, downplay his involvement and pass off the blame, but Georg's hand on his arm is holding him in place, and Tom has to watch this play out. “Now, Bill, I'm sure you've got the wrong end of the stick here; it was just a publicity stunt-“

“Bullshit.” Gustav spits out the word, and David recoils as it cuts straight through his lie.

“Oh come off it, David. There's publicity, and then there's just plain grubbing for inches in the entertainment section.”

“Tom?”

David's turning to him, obviously expecting him to back him up - say it was just a publicity stunt, and he agreed to it and knew exactly what was going on, but Tom's tired of being David's fall man. He's tired of bearing the brunt of the assault on the band and blame being passed onto him instead the people who deserve it, and he shakes his head. “I told you, I didn't want to do it.”

He knows he sounds weak and pathetic, and he feels Bill's gaze burning into the side of his head, but he needs to get it out there properly. He didn't want to do it. He didn't. He wanted to go home, or to go back to Bill, and tell everything and stop going out and shagging girls because it was almost too much for him, and then it was too much and he couldn't stop.

“See, David?” Gustav voice is harsh, “You see? He didn't want to do it. So what did you do?”

“You told my brother that if he didn't go out and shag girls, you'd force me to get with a girl - maybe get a blowjob, isn't that what you texted him?” Bill's claws dig in, and he snarls out the next bit, “You told him you'd force me into a relationship if he didn't get it up often enough to satisfy your sick sense of publicity, didn't you?”

“I - I didn't -“

“Oh, quit lying, David.” Bill sounds exasperated, but Tom can detect a hint of hurt under there. He thought - they all did, really - that David supported his belief of saving himself for someone he loved, not a one night stand, in a strange hotel room. Tom's not the only who's had the rug ripped out from under his feet about someone he thought he could trust.

“Is that how we're marketed these days?” Georg cuts in, pushing past David's stuttering denials. “Seventeen year olds propping up the band by fucking their way to an early grave?” Every adult in the room flinches at Georg's deliberately cruel words. Tom turns away.

“No. No, that's not how it works!” One of the executives on the right of David chips in, his suit tight over his paunch, and his face shiny with sweat as nerves start to race. “We're just trying to help Tom's image - his reputation as a ladies man! As a playboy-“

“Fuck. You.” Bill snarls, and he's made no secret over their time in the industry of his distaste for the executives - none of them have, but they've never been quite so open in their hatred as now. “You weren't helping his image at all. Not one fucking bit.” He reaches into the bag at his feet, yanks out a pile of the magazines and throws them to the executives. “Not one fucking positive headline in the bunch.” He grabs one for himself, and Georg and Gustav copy him.

The words they read from the dog eared pages physically hurt - he's avoided looking them as much as possible, tried to block out David's lengthy dissections of the prelims in their meetings as he tries to convince Tom to go out again, and now he's hearing them read out by the people who mean the most to him.

Drugs. Sex. Booze. Rumours of overdoing it, of alcoholism, of being a bad role model, and a child star heading off the rails mixed in with quotes from people who went to school with him, people who used to follow him around to beat him and Bill up telling all his sordid secrets about his former wild child past… It didn't sound so bad at first, but the stuff that’s thrown at David now is _vile_. He feels sick.

“So David? That's the kind of publicity we want?” When all David can do is look away, Georg turns his attention to the man sat beside their manager - the editor. “You condone the abuse of teenagers to get more headlines, do you?”

“I do not!” Viktor points a finger at Georg, “I am firmly against the exploitation of minors!” The words out of his mouth are straight out of a textbook legal statement - and everyone in the room knows it. It's just regurgitating the same shit from meetings and legal documents that they've all seen and Mama signed for them.

It's why David took on their guardianship for this tour, so they wouldn't be exploited by men with pockets bigger than their common sense and decency.

Fat lot of good that did Tom.

Saki hooks one of the magazines towards him, flicks through it, and with every passing second Tom can see his face become darker and darker. He looks furious, and Tom knows why. Saki's been the only one who's really been standing with him every night, pushing him into the van when he begs to go back to the hotel, holding him up as he staggers through the gauntlet of cameras and people who try to talk to him when he's drunk and tired and cold.

“Liar.” Bill reaches down, pulls out the laptop, spins it around to face the executives. On the screen is the prelim scan of BILDE's latest article on him, and Bill taps the screen. “Funny. That's your handwriting.”

“We've all seen enough of it lately…” It's true. Every shoot they've ever had with them has resulted in pictures and prelims decorated with that guy's scrawl, so they're all extremely familiar with it.

“And that's David's - _'I want more of this…'_ and look here - a great big arrow pointed to the big picture of my brother drunk and nearly crying as he's practically carried to the van. Now, I'm just a kid, but isn't that encouraging David's exploitation because right beneath it - “ _I can get you that_. From you David.”

“Fuck.”

“No, David. You're done fucking Tom over. You're done fucking this band over, and you're done fucking over our careers.” Georg leans forward, and his voice is dark and cutting. “You're done. Completely.”

“You made Tom have sex with girls in order to boost his own image - which might, I add, really didn't work, but what about us?” Gustav thumps the table. “You didn't think of us, did you? How you flushed our careers down the fucking toilet - “

“I didn't fuck you over -“ David tries to shout, but his voice cracks mid-sentence.

“The fact that he doesn't get in till three or four in the morning, means he misses rehearsals. Which means he plays like shit on stage, which means the band is under pressure, and _it only gets worse_ when you repeat the cycle.” Gustav rides roughshod over the executives objections, and he holds up a hand to silence them. “When we played at the Stadium, he fucked up big time.”

“Twice.” Bill cuts in, and it's a jab straight to the core.

Ouch. That hurt, but Georg presses his foot against Tom's under the table, and he swallows the urge to deny it. It's true. He did fuck up. Twice as Bill so kindly points out.

“Your plan is tearing the band apart.” David stutters in a breath like he's been sucker punched in the chest, and Tom can see him internally panicking. A fracture in the band can spell the beginning of the end, and they're a money making machine that's still picking up speed - there's no way that David wants to lose them now.

“I had no idea it was… this bad…” David's cover up is paper thin, but Tom's had enough.

He sets a match to David's lie when he speaks, “Liar. You knew about this before it even came out in BILDE - you showed me the prelims. You told me to do better - to shag more girls, try for two or three a night if I could.” Georg tenses beside him, but Tom carries on. He's got weeks of anger and frustration stored up inside, and he's not about to stop. “You kept shouting at me - _make it work_ , and _why aren't you doing more_ and all the rest - and when I begged you for a night off - when I went down on my fucking knees to beg for a night to sleep, you told me you would force Bill to get with a girl to get more fucking stories for him!” Tom stabs his finger towards the editor who rears back, attempting to look surprised but failing.

Miserably.

“You forced him to work like that, and then you're surprised when shit like this happens?” Bill picks up one of the magazines, waves it at the men across the table. “Why, David? Why did you do it - even when it obviously wasn't working?”

David shakes his head, pressing prayer like hands to his lips to prevent himself from talking, but Tom knows. He knows why David did what he did - at least on an objective level. The same reason he couldn't say no - because there were people who were debt collecting, and David owed big time. Because it was the principle of the matter - just one more night would fix it, just one good story if they played it right.

But Tom will never forgive him for all but killing the band and his bond with his brother.

Never.

“We would never condone such behaviour - never!” The executive on the far left speaks, puffing his chest with self-importance. “I want to personally extend my apologies for this horrible -“

“Shut up.” Gustav shakes his head, curling his lip in disgust at the false sympathy and arrogant patronising in his tone. “Just… shut the fuck up. We have your emails too - we've seen your text messages. You're as guilty as the other two, both of you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about -“

Bill spins the laptop around again, clicks a couple of times, turns it back to face the others. It's a search for all the emails to and from the executives that have come across Tom's account.

A bold **_79 results found_** silences the spluttering protests from both of the suits.

What response is there?

They've caught them, and to add insult to injury, it's in a trap of their own devising - their emails, their text messages, their handwriting, their actions, their consequences. Gustav and Bill put together a plan that was beautiful in its simplicity - clean and straightforward because all they had to do was spin it against the adults by selecting the right bits, and they'd walk right into it without any prompting.

Tom can't believe it. They're almost there, almost at the end of this saga, and he's almost free. He can practically feel the ties to David and the other men dropping away by the second.

“This cannot continue.” Georg has a heavy note of finality in his voice, and David flinches. “We _will_ fall apart. This band will fall apart under this pressure, and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.”

“You can't!” Uh oh. The suit on the left blusters, and his face is pale, but his eyes are dark and darting to and fro as he tries to think on the spot. “You signed a contract! You all did!” He's grasping at straws, but he thinks he's found a rock to slow the descent into legal hell for now.

“Yes!” The other one jumps in, obviously pleased to have found what they see as a hole in their nice little trap. Too bad Georg is already on to it.

“I'm nineteen. I'm fairly certain I can work out how to use this device…” He pulls his own phone out of his pocket, holds it up for them all to see. “… and call up a lawyer. I'm sure they'd be delighted to hear about how you're abusing your talent and forcing them into bad situations because you're too fucking cowardly to stand up for them.” The last sentence makes David turn paler than Tom's ever seen him.

“And I'm eighteen. I'm a legal adult - and free to break my contract if I have due cause. I'm sure an understanding contract lawyer will be more than happy to help me split from you based on the evidence we can provide.” Actually, Tom's not sure if that's true, but the threat is real enough to make the suits slump in their seats even more.

Except the one of the left - he rallies briefly - “The twins - they're only seventeen! David has to break the contract for them, and he wouldn't-“

“What part of joint guardianship did you forget?” Gustav hisses. “Simone has equal rights, and I'm damn sure she'll hit the roof when she finds out what you're doing to her sons. I'm sure she'd love to hear how you've been protecting them, David, how you've been keeping them safe, and how you're taking care of them.”

“But…”

“With the emails, the text messages, the handwriting… not to mention Tom's word against yours… You haven't got a leg to stand on, legally speaking.” David moans because he's the one who's been implicated the most - if this gets anywhere near a courtroom, he's going to be the first in line for the chopping block because he's been the one with Tom's guardianship, the one who's been implementing the plan, physically threatening Tom with Bill's virginity being taken away against his will. “Have you?” Gustav prods, and they all shake their heads. At the very least reputations will ruined and names dragged through the mud until nobody will want them.

“She could break the contract without David's consent - any family lawyer would tell you that. Because of David's behaviour, the best course of action would be to break it. Simple and oh so effective.” Georg sounds supremely confident as he deals another verbal sucker punch to David who heaves another stuttering breath.

But it's true. Mama would move heaven and earth for him and Bill, and she's gonna go ballistic when she finds out why Tom's been in the papers so much. Frankly, Tom doesn't know if he wants her to know or he'd like her to remain ignorant of the real reasons behind it all, but he rather suspects that's not gonna be for him to decide.

It's not like Georg and Gustav will let him hide away again.

David is pale faced and sweating, and Tom knows they've got him nailed to a wall -

“What's this about my image?” Bill asks, and David snaps around to stare wild-eyed, at Bill as he packs away the laptop.

“What?”

“What's this about my image not being a draw? About it being a turnoff for the fans?” Bill shrugs, nonchalantly. “Apparently, it was something you wanted corrected?”

But as they watch, instead of apologising or confessing, David clams up, tight. He doesn't speak, but he keeps swallowing, not looking Tom in the eye, suddenly sweating bullets, and the other suits are the same, and Bill flicks his gaze between them all as something… something is happening - something's up, Bill's words have changed the ball game… The air is thick with tension again, and Tom can hardly breathe as Bill asks… “Or was that all a lie?”

His tone is flippant, carefree and cool, but the reaction is all too serious, because David swallows and looks at the table as he whispers, “No…”

And suddenly Tom gets it.

It was never about Bill. Never. His image was _never_ under threat. The hell David put him through - all the nights in clubs and the never ending rotation of girls and the lack of sleep and food and the constant feeling of being hung-over … It had nothing to do with Bill - he was safe the _entire_ time. His virginity and slow admittance of looking for love in relationships were as exactly as Tom had always assumed - instant draws for the fangirls who liked the soft romanticism. It was a lie.

A lie for him.

David had completely betrayed him, lying like that. To push him to follow the executives orders, to manipulate him, to make him do as he was told. He was being bound over by a threat that didn't even exist… Oh God… Tom feels sick - he wants to throw up because, _fuck_ , the entire reason he was abandoning his twin turned out to be false, and David's just ripped out his heart because he could have not gone out night after night and not almost lost the three people who mean the most to him in life…

Gustav is snarling, _“You fucking bastard!”_

But Tom can't speak. There are not enough words to express how much he hurts, how much it hurts to be betrayed like that. His hands are clasped over his mouth like he can hold back the tears that want to fall, and he's cried so much today, and he won't do it again, but he still can't speak…

But Georg can.


	24. Chapter 24

  
  


He wants to punch David. Smack him right across the face with one hand and then come up underneath with a low blow to break his jaw with the other one. He could do it. Georg knows he could - he's been lifting weights and doing enough pushups to be sure that David will need wires and a neckbrace before he's through with him. But he can't. Being arrested for grievous bodily harm isn't on his to do list for today, so he'll have to content himself with words.

He's standing up, leaning over the table and David's reared back, and he looks fucking terrified. So he should be.

“You fucking bastard.” Georg slams both hands on the table, and the resulting sting doesn't even begin to touch him through the sheer rage coursing his veins. “How fucking dare you… How _dare_ you?!”

“I - please - Georg!”

“Shut up. How could you take a teenager - someone who _trusted_ you - and lie to him so he'll go and have sex - you fucking _prostituted_ him for your own gain!” The suits are looking greener and greener, and he can't help the roar that comes out next. “You took a _goddamn **child**_ , and you whored him out to gain more stories for yourselves!”

“Georg…” Bill says, but he can't listen right now. The urge to climb across the table and pound David's face into mincemeat is growing. Fast.

“How could you do that to _Tom_? Simone trusted you - you promised her you'd keep her sons safe, and instead you _lie_ to them, tell one of them that you'll force the other into unwanted sex if he doesn't go out and fuck two or three girls a night!”

There's a hand on his shoulder, but Georg shrugs Gustav off. He doesn't care. He doesn't give a shit anymore because David needs… he needs to pay for what he's done - to them, to the band, to the twins, to _Tom_. He nearly ruined everything - their careers, their music, their _friendship_.

And that's something he can never forgive him for.

But the suit on the right is puffing up, and his paunch wobbles as he laboriously climbs out of the mesh back chair. “We thought it was for the best!” He points a thick finger at Georg and shakes it patronisingly. “We've been in this business a very long time, little boy, and we know what works-“

_Little boy?_ Georg's got one knee on the edge of the table before he feels Gustav's hand around his arm, holding him back, but he can't hold back his voice.

“ _Little boy?!_ We've been carrying you through everything - we've been making you money for _two fucking years_ , you asshole!” He's snarling, and if Gustav lets go of him, he's gonna make the bastard bleed. “You're gonna stand there and tell me you thought targeting a vulnerable teenager was the best course of action for a band who was _already_ rising through the charts? You're telling me you thought forcing a _child_ to have sex against his will was an appropriate thing to do?”

“I - wha-“ the executive is fumbling, looking for help from his friend, but there's nothing coming from that quarter - the room is silent, and Saki is standing in front of the doors as if there's gonna be a runner. No chance. Gustav'll catch them long before Saki gets his hands on the bastards.

“You _blackmailed_ a _child_ and told him basically if he couldn't get it up, you'd move onto his brother, and you wonder why he was failing?” Georg leans forward, and Gustav's hand tightens. “You abused his trust, you lied to him and then you expect me to shut the fuck up?” He can't help laughing, but it's not funny, and nobody else is smiling. “How the fuck… you're not men. You're not even fucking human. You're just money grubbing sons of bitches, aren't you?”

“Georg - please… You have to understand-“ David reaches out, as if to touch his shoulder even though there's table right between them, as if they were _chatting_ …

“Don't try that shit with me David. Don't. I understand perfectly. You went for Christmas dinner at their house, told their mother that you'd care for them as if they were your own flesh and blood and then you turned around and hurt them. Both of them.” Georg points to the twins who are wide eyed and terrified. But he doesn't care. “I understand that you put money and headlines and publicity ahead of their well being and our success as a band. I understand that you chose them,” he points to the suits and the editor, “over us for profit.”

“I thought it was for the best,” David says in a low voice, but he can't look Georg in the eye.

“You thought it was for the best to hurt a child, to whore him out for your own ends. He's been living on cigarettes and beer. He's hardly _slept_ a full night since you started this fucking saga.” Georg leans forward, and David's eyes widen. “He's so skinny, he'd be blown away by a strong wind, and he's so emotionally unstable thanks to your meddling with his twin bond that it nearly broke. _He_ nearly broke.”

David doesn't say anything. What can he say? It's the truth.

“You've put our music, our band, our friendship on the line for the last fucking time, David.” Georg straightens up, crosses his arms. “You've got two options.”

“I'm listening.” Hands quaking, David doesn't seem nearly as confident as he did at the start of the meeting, but the suits look in even worse condition. Georg is surprised they're still standing upright.

“One, you resign. All of you.” Georg lets his eyes rove over all the men, and they're all in varying states of shock. “Viktor, you retract all the speculation and shit you've been saying, and issue an apology. And _that_ issue,” he points to the laptop in the bag clutched in Bill's hands, “never ever makes it to print. And then you step down - I don't care what you say - whether it's for personal reasons or spending time with your family, I don't give a shit. Just get gone. You two,” he gestures to the suits who nearly swoon, “I want copies of our contracts, fresh and _unaltered_ by tomorrow morning. You resign and issue an apology explaining what happened for the label. I don't care how high you have to go - I want it on Universal letterhead.”

“WHAT?”

“Shut up. I'm talking,” Georg snarls, and they clam up again. “And David, you revoke your guardianship over Bill and Tom. I want it done by tomorrow morning - no excuses.”

“I can do that for you.” David speaks to his hands.

“I want another apology from you, and I want the truth. You don't get to hide. And we'll work out the legal terms with a lawyer to get you booted from the production team, or we leave. I don't care if we go back to being a back alley band. Working under you after what you did is out of the question.”

“You're still gonna involve the lawyers?”

“What do you think?” He sneers at the editor who flinches. Quite frankly, lawyers are the least of their worries right now.

“What's the second option?” The fat suit on the right asks, and his face tells Georg he's already started to scheme, how to twist this around to benefit them, but he's way out of luck today.

“I give you a thirty second head start and call up a lawyer.” Georg shrugs. “I can't guarantee the police won't want to get involved, but right now, you're all looking very very guilty. At least if you've taken steps to rectify it, they might look kindly upon it.”

“Ah.” Indeed. Right now, Georg reckons they're all looking at some very serious charges from the local police department; Tom _is_ still legally a child, and legally unable to make a lot of choices for himself. David's looking at a long stretch behind bars for this, if he doesn't play ball with them.

“Will you still call a lawyer?” David asks, and he seems to already be composing himself, obviously coming to terms with what's happened.

“We want new management - and not one of your old mates.” Georg ignores David's question. He's not sure what's gonna happen after this; if they're going to deal with this in-house, and out of the press, then maybe not, but he thinks that new management might not be so forgiving - at the very least, people are going to have to be consulted, about the matter. This meeting in here is basically the beginning of the end for David and the suits no matter what else happens.

“I see.” David nods, and his hand goes to towards his pocket probably for his Personal Organiser.

“And before you think about weaselling out of this and skipping town - remember who you are. And that we still have the evidence.” Tom pats his pocket compulsively to check the phone is still there; Bill taps his black painted fingernails on the laptop bag. “And I'm sure there's more evidence we can dig up about the life you've let us lead.” It's true. They've all done underage drinking, had sex _long_ before they were officially legal, taken drugs which were most certainly not on the right side of the law, all with David and the suits permission - either tacitly or expressly given.

The police will be very interested to know about it.

“Understood.” There's way too many times that David's rustled up girls far too fast for it to be just off the street for him and Gustav before they got together, even if the twins seemed content to go after their own, too many times that the bathroom doors in clubs were carefully guarded while they were inside with girls and a bag of white powder, too many times David emptied shit down the toilet before they got to a border crossing on the bus.

He's not stupid.

And neither is David.

He knows if this goes public, he'll hang for it, and if the police are involved, it'll get even uglier ever faster. There's not much left for him to do now but try to save face.

Bill stands up, dragging the laptop bag with him, and his face is pale and china doll perfect again. He's calm on the surface, holding himself together with impressive resolve. Gustav waits by the doors, obviously content that Georg won't send himself flying at the suits any time soon. He won't. He's way too fucking tired now - all that anger has bled his energy right out of him.

Bill holds onto Tom's hand; his white knuckles are the only sign of tension in his whole body, and only when they're both standing, moving towards Saki does the security guard hold the door open for them. Gustav touches Bill's arm, and they pause in the entryway, looking back into the room.

Georg kicks away his chair. “You could have taken us right to the top, you know, David?” he asks, and his voice is rougher than he expected. But it's true. Bill's set them on a meteoric rise to fame, and David could have had it all; so could the suits.

“I know.” David sighs, and he looks very old now, older than Georg remembers him being yesterday.

“Mama's gonna kill you, isn't she?” Bill sounds younger though, younger than Georg thought, and it's hard to remember the cool, hard Bill from twenty minutes ago.

“Probably.”

“Good.” Tom mutters the word, but David hears. The sadness across his face is immense, but Georg doesn't care anymore. David threw away any chance of sympathy the moment he went after Tom like that.

“Goodbye, David,” Georg says, and it's the final word in this whole affair.

When he leaves the room, the others follow in his wake, and Saki lets the door close behind them with a quiet whisper.

End of the line, he thinks, and even though it's probably the worst thing that'll ever happen to him, to his band - he feels lighter than air.

But he really wants that beer.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say thank you first of all, to my co-writer and co-captain of this run away train of a fic, Ksena. Although I, SnowStormSkies, provided the prose, she provided the ideas, the motiviation, the pictures, the emotional support and the entertainment, walked through every step of every word with me, and wrote almost thirty thousand words of her own comments on this fic while it was being written. For those that read it, you owe a very large part of this story to her. So thank you so much.
> 
> Also to thank are the betas who were called in on this - usually at short notice. Steinsgrrl, Zeph ToHo, Thilia, and Casey, all their work has made this story readable, and given it appropriate commas. So a big hats of to you :D
> 
> And last people to thank are you :D Dear beloved readers. Your reviews have meant a lot to us, and we appreciated every one of them.
> 
> This isn't the end though. We have more adventures planned with our lovely little trio and Bill and they'll start anew in a little while. Stick around and we'll be back!

  
  


Nobody speaks until they get back to Gustav's room. Tom clings to his hand the entire way through reception and into the lift, and Bill doesn't give a shit because they're done with David and David's rules and David's hesitancy over their twin bond. They're not too weird or touchy feely. They're twins.

When Gustav opens the door to his room and waves everyone inside, Bill is ready to fall over. The adrenaline rush from confronting David was incredible, but the further away from the conference room that they got, the more it receded, and now it's all Bill can do to slump on the sofa and try to not slide off the edge.

Georg looks relaxed, obviously unwilling to talk about the whole incident, but in Bill’s opinion, that's out of the question. He's supposed to be their chilled out bassist - famous for being so laid back he's practically horizontal. After all the shit he and Tom have pulled on him, all the aggravating little comments they try to rile him up with… he's _never_ blown up like that. Ever.

Frankly, Bill is kind of glad that that's never been directed at him or Tom. Sure, Georg has gotten angry, he's stormed off, he's sworn at them, but they're teenagers. It kind of comes with the territory, but that… that was something else. Georg looked ready to _kill_ David or at least cause him serious bodily harm, and if that were aimed at him, Bill is sure he'd do something completely humiliating like burst into tears or something.

“Well, that went well, didn't it?” Gustav asks, seating himself in one of the armchairs and crossing his legs. He looks inordinately pleased with himself, grinning a little bit even. He should be. Everything went according to plan, and it was fifty per cent his plan.

“Yep.” Georg leans on the back of Gustav's armchair, and he's perfectly composed. No sign of the raging dragon that emerged downstairs - not a hair out of place, not a hint of colour on his face. Bill's a little envious of that, actually…

“Good work on terrifying the shit out of David and the suits, by the way, Georg,” Gustav adds pleasantly. “I think at least one of them shit their pants before you were finished.”

“Why?” Georg looks mystified, but Bill ain't buying it. That downstairs was real anger, real rage, and Georg isn't getting away with just pretending nothing happened even as he saunters over to the mini-bar.

Bill wants answers. “Where the hell did that come from?” he demands, scratching at his eyebrow right as Tom rests his head on his shoulder.

“Where did _what_ come from?” Georg shrugs, kicks his shoes off.

“Don't play dumb, Hagen.” Bill curls an arm around Tom, holding him closer, and the bond between them surges a little more. It's good to be back where he belongs - beside his brother - and even though there's talking needed, Bill is content to just have physical contact with him. Georg owes them some answers too though. “You were keeping it all together, and then you just lost your shit and went all HULK RAGE CRASH on the suits. What the hell happened?.”

“Hulk _Smash_ ,” Gustav corrects.

“Whatever.” Bill flaps his hand in Gustav's direction, who rolls his eyes. Well, who cares about stupid cartoons? “But seriously. What the hell happened to you?”

“Ah, shit, Gustav!” Georg slams the mini-bar door.

“What?”

“They've had all the fucking beer!”

“Who has?” Gustav raises his eyebrow. “The maid?”

“No, you dick. Whoever had this room before. They didn't refill it!” Georg looks unimpressed - when he wants a beer, he has one, and the mini-bar being empty? Not a good sign. But Bill _still_ wants answers, and he presses Georg again.

“Georg, we've known you five years. You've _never_ lost your shit like that before. Ever. And believe me, me and Tom have tried to make you lose it before.” They have. All the time they were living in the apartment over the studio during summer holidays, all the van rides and bus trips - it was like a personal mission to make him lose his temper, and they _never_ managed to do it as well as David did today.

“We _know_.” Gustav grins as Georg raises his eyebrows. “It was fun to watch you fail, every fucking time. Quality evening entertainment, that.”

“Ha. Fucking. Ha.” Bill barely refrains from shoving his middle finger up at Gustav. “But seriously. Give me something. Please.”

“Sometimes,” Georg shrugs, “I get angry. You won't like me when I get angry.”

“Oh, I dunno.” Tom mumbles, but it's his bad luck that Bill chooses that moment to move, and _everybody_ hears.

“Oh, really?.” Georg grins, and shares a look with Gustav who seems to be _extremely_ content with himself now, and there's something going on there - something they've just said without moving lips or hands that Bill needs time to decipher. Tom has gone back to burying himself in Bill's shirt, and even through that layer of cotton, Bill can feel the heat from Tom's face.

That's it. This evening, they're going to have that discussion, and Tom's going to actually _talk_ to him about what happened because shit is going on that's way above Bill's head, and he doesn't like that. At all. He's front man for a reason.

“What's your room number, Gus?” Georg pushes off the back of the chair again, goes to the phone beside the bed, moving the bag onto the floor beside the bathroom door.

“372.”

“Cheers - yeah, hi.” Georg picks up the leather room service menu on the nightstand reels off a list of German and English beers for himself and Gustav but neither Bill nor Tom really drink that much beer - “Oh, and can I have a pitcher of rum and coke, please? Small. And… a couple of apple ciders too please? Do you have the pear - yeah, two of them?”

“Awesome.” Tom mumbles, and he sits back, the pink fading fast from his cheeks. Figures the call of alcohol would make him sit up. He looks a lot better than he did this morning when he knocked on his door. Bill doesn't think he'll ever shake that image; Tom looked so afraid, as if he thought Bill would hit him.

Truth be told, he probably would have done, if Gustav and Georg hadn't been there; would have turned Tom black and blue long before the truth could ever have come out, and at the time, he probably wouldn't have regretted it. Turns out things weren't quite so clean cut as he thought.

God, David… He thinks to himself and wishes that he would've had the courage to actually smack the man before they left.

Over the other side of the room, Georg is placing food orders, and Bill is pleased to hear that there's going to be fries on the menu, even if the best place for them is Mickey Ds, and they don't deliver. Shame that. They'll just have to send Saki out for some later or something. He purposely refrains from remembering that Saki is a bodyguard and _not_ a PA, and is therefore more likely to tell him _not a chance in hell, sonny boy_ than actually go and retrieve him his requested golden strips of heaven.

But first, more pressing matters.

“I need the bathroom.” He unclenches his hand from around Tom's with regret as he announces his news. They part, only temporarily, but a small part of Bill is worried that the bond will disappear with the lack of touch because it's still so fragile, like wafer thin glass that trembles in the breeze. It holds steady though. His chest only tightens a little - a tiny warning to not to be apart too long. It's not the mind numbing dull ache it was before, and that's good enough for him.

Georg points him towards the other door, while he reels off his debit card numbers, waiting for it to process, and Bill thanks him with a nod as he disappears into the room as Georg puts the phone down. Outside the room, he hears the sound of talking between Tom and Gustav, but he's dying for a piss, and not going in his pants is top priority right now.

Standing over the toilet, jeans and boxers pulled down just enough to get his dick out, he ends up staring around the room, idly taking the sights in…. Not that there would be many in a bathroom, but there are towels, a sink, toothbrushes, a shower…

Hang on. _Three_ toothbrushes…

Bill shakes off, tucking his dick back into his boxers and hitches up his jeans, but he's more interested in the fact that there are _three_ toothbrushes sitting in the holder on the counter, and right beside it is a little empty pot, and the contents of plastic toothpicks are laid out in a very familiar pattern - the one up, one down design that Bill's stared at for years in their bathroom at home.

_Tom's_ been in here, he realises.

What the hell for though? He had one of the bigger suites in this hotel last night - the same as Gustav's and Bill's and Georg's. There would have been no reason to share a shower, unlike when they end up in a total dump and have to share rooms or bathrooms.

He prowls around, trying to find more signs of Tom's presence, poking into the cupboard under the sink and the medicine cupboard above, but it's in the shower that he finds it. Through the glass, he sees Tom's favourite shower gel and dread shampoo neatly in the corner, and they're definitely Tom's. Nobody else uses Original Source -and certainly nobody else has dread shampoo bars.

The shower is wet inside, and Bill turns to leave, still pondering what the new information combined with Tom's reaction this morning meant, when he sees the towel rail.

And on it is more evidence of Tom's presence in here.

Neatly folded onto the heated rack is one of Tom's dread turbans, and there's no way one of them is in here by accident - Tom _had_ to have brought it in here himself, because neither Georg nor Gustav would have had any use for it. On the back of the door he finds a bathrobe, and when he sniffs it - trying _not_ to think that he's turning into his mother suspecting girls in their rooms at three in the morning on their bed sheets - he smells Georg, but underneath that…

_Tom._

Okay. This is officially weird - what the fuck was Tom doing in here last night? There's pieces of the puzzle going around and around in his mind, and some of them are starting to settle, but the picture they make isn’t making sense. Much.

He stares around the marble room, and his fingers twitch as he itches to go and grab Tom to march him back to their room for the night - and it's their room tonight at least, not his - and shake the fucking answers out of him.

But. Dinner first.

He checks one last time to make sure his zip is done up and that everything is done up properly - one last primp in the mirror - and he flings open the door open, not bothering to watch where he's going because there's nothing in the way...

And he promptly falls flat on his face.

“Ow.” He tells the carpet, and it doesn't respond except by giving him a little carpet burn under his chin which is going to be fun to cover up with foundation, and he hears Georg cackling over the other side of the room. “Shut up, Hagen,” he mumbles, and that doesn't help as much as he hoped as Georg roars with laughter even more, and even Gustav is snorting with laughter. Tom is staring at him, wide eyed - why is he doing that.

It takes way too much effort to actually get up to a point where he can sit and find out what's caught on his foot… oh wouldn't you know it's Georg's bag, stupidly placed in the doorway - Bill avoids the fact he walked past it on his way _into_ the bathroom - and it's open, spewing clothes and shit all over the floor. Jesus, there's stuff here everywhere, and he reaches for a t-shirt to cram back into the bag and...

Something _clinks_ , and it's big and weird shaped, and what the fuck is it…? He lifts away the t-shirt, expecting something like a box of guitar keys or something but…

It's a pair of handcuffs.

Handcuffs. Wrapped around a paddle. A… pretty damn nice paddle, all hand carved…

The laughter's stopped now, and Georg is frozen on the sofa, and Gustav is pale faced as he twists around in his chair, but Tom….Tom is _bright_ pink, looking everywhere but at the cuffs and he keeps pulling down his shirt sleeves. And shifting in his seat….

Oh. _Oh._

Bill grins. “Wanna share the secret, boys?”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete; updates will be every few days, as they appear from the beta.


End file.
